A’s sorting out rational thought these days, and yet his mind seems dominated by the absurd and the imaginative a lot of the time. It’s something precious that wanes with late childhood. Some conversational tidbits:

I let the girls walk to the library from the orthodontist by themselves a couple of days ago, a distance of a block, and traversing a pedestrian crosswalk. After they left, A. said, “If S. dies, someone will have to get her bedroom.” I said, “S’s not going to die!” “Says who?” he said, breezily.

Walking back home hours later, I guided A. off the road when a car turned onto the road towards us. “Why’d you do that?” “Because I don’t want you to get hurt.” “I can die if I want to.” “No, I love you too much. That would break my heart, A.” “Yeah, you’d have sleepless nights,” he said, giggling a little.

[eta: I think this might come off as a touch psychopathic, but he's approaching it as he would anything else that is far removed from reality, e.g. If he turned purple I'd be upset. If he grew three heads I'd be upset. If he died I'd be upset. The last is no more real than the first to him.]

Yesterday morning, cuddling in bed, he grasped both of my hands. “Hah. I’ve got both your cousins.” “Hmm? Are my hands cousins?” “Yep. They look alike.”

Last week while we were having dancing night, A. said to me, “I’m going to grow up just like Papa. Know why?” “No, tell me.” “Because I’m his kind of animal.”