Living with Nels is kind of like living with a tiny, savage little creature. For instance today when I returned from my trip with Amy to Olympia (fabric-buying; Halloween sewing looms) and after I popped into the bathroom and out he’d gone outside to the driveway, dropped his drawers, and peed in the driveway. Too desperate to wait and too considerate (?) to barge in on my bathroom time. Then an hour later he opens Sophie’s bento, scarfs the leftovers, and lays down on the dining bench to fall asleep.
Last night he was teasing me – I called to my husband from the living room and Nels turned to me. “Did you say poopy Ralph?” he asked quizzically, head to the side and a mock-earnest expression on my face (No, I did not say that. I have never said that.). A few minutes later as I sipped from my mug, “Mama,” he says sweetly, “don’t drink your coffee.” “Why not?” I asked. He smiled. “Because it’s poisoned.”