While on a walk on the Berkeley Pier today, Miles took his first picture… this modernist interpretation of his own shadow. He then flat-out refused to take a picture of me. “No, Daddy — picture time has ended!” No further explanation requested or offered, but I’m not taking it personally.
For some reason, he’s been fascinated lately with the wrinkle in my forehead, and today objected that he couldn’t see his own wrinkle. “You don’t have one,” said Amy. “You have to earn your wrinkles over time.” “No!,” answered Miles, “People don’t earn wrinkles, they earn stickers!” (referring to our “eat a good dinner” incentive system).
He’s been living with a doozy of a head cold lately. A week ago, trying to get him to take medicine when sick … you’d think we were trying to yank teeth out of his head. Then, suddenly one evening, he actually asked for his medicine — seemed to have made the causal connection between it and feeling better. And last night, after eagerly gulping down a tablespoon, he boldly informed me: “Daddy, medicine is my favorite food!”