Woke this morning to a pair of precisely arranged cardboard boxes in Miles’ play area with a note attached (apparently dictated to Amy by Miles), informing me — in no uncertain terms — that not only was I not to disturb the boxes, which were configured in the shape of a race car, but that my only son was headed for New Zealand. It’s going to be lonely around here. Kind of bummed – I had hoped to travel to N.Z. with him when he turns eight, and now he’s apparently decided to go without me.
Late that morning, up to his elbows dolling up the car with purple and red finger (read: hand) paints. Once the car was ready to race to New Zealand, thought he’d be gone like a flash, but nope. Found him on the living room floor paging through a book of Mark Rothko paintings (not kidding), telling me what he liked or didn’t like about each. Guess he’s not leaving after all.