Lucky #7

He loves ice hockey and the Atlanta Falcons. Pokemon and Star Wars. Any science experiment that fizzes, foams, and turns colors. He's a good swimmer and mathmetician. When he's working with Lego or sorting Pokemon cards, he sings to himself, usually something he's learned in choir. He likes Geronimo Stilton chapter books but still enjoys the occasional Tomie DePaola picture book.

He loves his mama and daddy and little sister, though he's pretty good at whining "Charrrrlotte!" when she frustrates him. He's sturdy and strong and has a good eye for hitting baseballs or throwing footballs. (But ice hockey's his passion.)

He has freckles and a ready smile. He's full of questions and ideas. Today he turns 7 years old. I love him as only a GrandMary can love. Happy Birthday, our beautiful boy!

Pillow Talk

Conversations with a child are always enlightening, whatever the time of day. But those that spring up in the middle of the night from the mind of a small child, one minute dead to the world in deep sleep and the next fully awake, can test the reasoning ability of most any adult, especially one not quite awake. Topics ranging from Victorian playhouses to the attributes of various trolls are expected to be seriously and knowledgably discussed.

Three-almost-four-year-old Charlotte spent the weekend with me since her brother and mama were down with flu. I'd taken Friday off from work, and the two of us spent a beautiful day at Atlanta Botanical Garden. Both of us were looking forard for what we might do on Saturday and discussed it throughout the day and evening. After such a busy day, my little charge fell asleep early out of happy exhaustion and anticipation of the next day's adventures.

About 1:30 the next morning, Charlotte woke with a start and the need to discuss plans for Saturday:

• Let's talk about what we're going to do tomorrow (or, "tomonnow," in Charlotte-speak).
• Can we talk about tomonnow?
• Can we go to the new playhouse? (She's only seen the 1930's playhouse at Atlanta History Center, not the lovely Victorian one on the other side of the Swan House.)
• What color is the new playhouse?
• Is the playhouse pink? (*yawn* No, I don't remember it being pink.)
• Is the playhouse purple? (*yawn*yawn* No I don't remember the playhouse being purple. I have a picture of it we can look at tomorrow morning.)
• Charlotte, it's almost 2 o'clock. Let's go back to sleep and talk about it tomorrow.
• OK. Is the playhouse blue? (stops abruptly and falls asleep)

Sometime in the night I felt a hot, dry little hand touch my face, and I realized that our pillow-talk-planned adventure for "tomonnow" would not happen, as our sweet girl would be down for the count with a fever. So instead of discovering a Victorian playhouse, the day was spent in feverish sleep. And, yet, even then our little girl would wake, ready to talk about her favorite subject: Trolls.

• Why does Guy Diamond shoot glitter out his butt? (This is the question most on her mind these days.)
• Which trolls do you like the best?
• What if we could shoot glitter out our butts?
• Do you like the Cloud? Can we high-five?
• Why does Guy Diamond shoot glitter out his butt?
• What if we cried glitter?
• How is glitter made? I think you have to stir it up, but it can't get too hot or it melts.
• Do you like Branch? Poppy? Creek? Satin and Chenille? (proceeds to name all the trolls).
• Why does Guy Diamond shoot glitter out his butt?

Off and on from Satrday 8:30am through Sunday 7:30am, questions and solutions poured out of her as she came in and out of sleep, Now, you could say it was the fever, but these conversations are the norm for Charlotte. The daytime musings I can handle, but the middle of the night pillow talk stretches this GrandMary's cognitive abilities.

If anyone knows why Guy Diamond shoots glitter out his butt, I'd appreciate the answer. Thanks.