The birthday boy, when asked how he wishes to celebrate, concocted a wholly unique and G-ish scheme. He wants me to come to his classroom with ingredients and his favorite spatula. He wants to bake blueberry muffins with his friends. Yes, I said, because that's all he wants. Yes, I'll bring the sugar and the flour and the butter and the eggs and the blueberries and your favorite spatula and your whisk. But I think we'll be baking at home. I think we'll be snowed in. You should probably mark the 2016 Olympics for a storm right now. G brings the tempest. I'll bring the blueberries.
Remember Carler? G has concocted his cousins. They are his playmates. If we can't stop what we're doing to play Sorry with him, he consoles himself by telling us he'll play with his cousins instead. When one of the girls has a friend over to play, G announces he's going to play at his cousins'. And those cousins: they love blueberry muffins.
I don't know how many cousins there are, but they always seem to travel in a pack. I asked if they have names, but G explains to me now that they don't; they're robots.
They're robots, you wonder? I did. He says yes. They're made of glass. They don't have bones, he explains.
Age four is going to be good. I love this boy. I love his cousins. It's good to welcome some new invisible playmates to our crew.