“The tomorrow that came before.”
That’s how G gets across his idea of “yesterday.” His language is like a ring on my finger. A loop of time that encircles the days instead of constricting them to a timeline—befores and afters plotted endlessly on a graph that depicts nothing but what has or hasn’t gotten done. Ah, the preschooled sage:
That’s what he likes to call his “dirty trooper” suit (the name he’s given to his Imperial Sandtroopers, though they’re not half as muddy as this little stinker).
Are everyone’s children as obsessive as mine? Or is this just one of those nerdy Star Wars boy things? He pours over his borrowed copy of the Lego Star Wars Character Encyclopedia, coveting the hundreds of figures he’s yet to obtain or doing his best to configure them with the pieces he’s got. Better yet, he makes up his own figures, like Luke Skywalker-Palpatine-Vader-Trooper or Han Solo-Darth Maul-Imperial Guard-Palpatine-Trooper (as you can see, every figure must have a little trooper and a little Palpatine for good measure). And these aren’t just imaginative names, they’re detailed descriptions representing the checklist of body parts he’s keeping track of in that three-year-old noggin of his. God forbid you put the wrong face on the Snowtrooper (which actually doesn’t have a face at all) or inadvertently use a white hand when it’s supposed to be black. He’ll call you on it. Every time.
Jonah’s currently into homemade dynamite. His most recent rendition:
In J’s mind, if you give it a fuse, it will blow. I admire his thinking and his initiative. He’s turned a couple of discarded plastic nobs (the “batteries”), a glowed-out glow stick (the “blow-up part”), an abandoned plastic tube from what was formerly his air pump rocket (the “shield that protects me from getting hurt”), a juice bottle (the casing of course) and a found piece of weed whacker string (the “fuse”) into an imaginative model, if not a thing of beauty. The part you can’t see in the photo is a wad of masking tape at the end of the fuse inside the bottle casing, which of course is the plastic explosives component.
I am still adjusting to a decaffeinated lifestyle, by which I mean, no caffeine in any shape or form. Wow. Who knew I was so slow? (Don’t answer that Mom or Dad or Cammy.) Who knew I needed a daily fifteen minute nap come two o’clock? Who knew how internally ever-so-slightly-continually agitated I was? I’m feeling the effect of my SSRI in a whole new way, which is to say, I was medicating myself with coffee to the extent that I didn’t really understand the side effects. I’m considering what to do about that, but in the meanwhile will leave things as they are, it being catalog deadline season. I should be much more agitated than I am about getting this thing finished, though I’m also glad not to be. That said, I think I’ll go lay out a few pages before dinner…