Face Painting Part 2

James was sick recently. Stomach flu sick. We had a strange feeling of deja vu at the restaurant we'd been treated to as we watched him raise his shirt and point to his tummy. "Hurts," he said, almost casually. Glenn and I looked at each other quizzically: why did that seem strangely familiar? Oh, yeah, he did the exact same thing last fall when he-- Too late. Up came his lunch. Always fun, doubly so in public forums. (My friend Lizzie is right: There is a desperate need for a sarcasm font.)

He recovered rather quickly, only to get sick again 3 days later. (Weird gap.) Then I confined him to his room for the day. He was clingy and sweet, and got better again. But he remained weak-willed for a few days, and I grew complacent about things like gating his door during nap.

That was a mistake. Two days after that, I came up from the basement, where I'd been having a good homeschool math session with Priscilla on the white board, to find that James had invaded the girls' room a good bit earlier and was still there. He'd gotten out tons of Priscilla's jewelry, awoken his little sister and supplied her with markers (which she was using in, on, and around her crib with great enthusiasm), and found a treasure for himself: face paint. Probably recalling the dog faces Priscilla had created (see earlier post), he decorated Genevieve and himself.

Oh, boy.

James is good at picking up phrases from us that he hears quite frequently. ("No t'anks, I good" when he's full, "Don' know what missing!" when we refuse food he offers us, etc.) I'm just waiting for the inevitable repeat of "You gonna drive me to drink."