Over the weekend I seriously considering penning a work of academic nonfiction entitled “God & Gutenberg: The Church & Copyright” until I realized that I was both nonreligious and not Larry Lessig.

My only prior knowledge of Gutenberg being downloading some eBooks from the Project that bears his name and my experience in the church was mainly centered around Methodist “Vacation Bible School” as a kid.

Thankfully for everyone, I’m not writing the book, I’m staying willfully ignorant of all the history surrounding Gutenberg (I get the Movable Type thing) and I stopped going to VBS after age 12.

What does this story have to do with two-year-olds? We both get strange ideas in our heads, apparently.

Owen (my two-year-old) got an idea stuck in his head this morning and it wouldn’t let him go. Over the weekend he injured his big toe by dragging it behind him (without his shoe on) to stop his scooter. Having already nearly ruined two pair of shoes in the same manner, he went about destroying his digits.

So after getting a band-aid this morning, the hot topic at the breakfast table was “Is my band-aid still on?”

The “conversation” went like this. Twelve times in a row.

Owen: Is my band-aid still on?
Me: Yes
Owen: Is my band-aid still on?
Me: Yes
Owen: Is my band-aid still on?
Me: Yes
Owen: Is my band-aid still on?
Me: Your band-aid is still on.
Owen: Yeah, it is!

Seriously. Twelve times.

And not Twelve verses, Twelve conversations of the exact wording and length as above.

Verbatim.

In the process of dropping him off at daycare I warned them of his obsession which means one thing: he didn’t mention it once. Until I got there.

I love that kid. He and I both need to learn to let go though.

G’night!

From the center director of our daycare this morning:

Seth,

I had Owen with me this morning and he was telling me how much he missed you. He wanted me
to take his picture and send it to you.

Happy Tuesday!

The visual evidence:

Owen pouting

I love and miss that kid and, obviously, he loves and misses me.

I think it gets to me mostly because he looks so much like I did at that age, pout/scowl and all.

See you soon, Owen!

From the mouths of babes:

[Int. Car on the way home from school & work]

Owen: Is it dirty?
Me: Is ‘what’ dirty?
Owen: Is it dirty?
Me: What? The dirt?
Owen: Yeah! Is the dirt dirty?
Me: Yes, Owen, the dirt is dirty.
Owen. Dirty dirt!
Me: Ha!
Owen: Dirt is dirty.
Me: Dirt *is* dirty.

And now you (and Owen) know.

Owen has a very cute habit of extrapolating words or phrases, usually as a foil to something Jenn & I want him to do. Sayings that are in opposition of our desires and more representative of his own.

Two instances that have both happened this week deal with phrases we use that contain the word “on” and that he has adapted to use the word “off”

For example(s):

• Jenn asks Owen to “hang on” to her hand as we cross the street and Owen requests to “hang off” once the crossing has been successful.
• I told him I need him to “take off” his pajama shirt so I could dress him in his t-shirt for school and he informed me that he would be “taking it on” and refused to let me get him dressed.

What will that boy think of next? Stay tuned in (out?)

:-)

I spent part of the early afternoon hanging out with Owen, missing tooth and all.

I didn’t spend nearly enough time with him and he cried when I left, inconsolable. He wouldn’t lay down and go to sleep. He only wanted me to read to him, to tell him a story, to tickle his back.

I’d read him a book by Margaret Wise Brown – she of “Goodnight Moon” fame – and it sparked my imagination.

Today’s Ficly Friday entry, “Hello, Moon“, is hardly a story. It’s a poor excuse for a poem. It says some things I’d like to say better and it plays at the form I’d like some of my writing to take.

I like the form (personally) but not the overall function (effect).

I hope you enjoy it. Leave me a comment, here or there.