Friday, November 04, 2005


Not OUR boy.

Walking up the sidewalk last night, I overhear Chago asking Mommy if it's dark, which it is, of course -- pitch black since 6pm and it's now 6:45.

"The dark is mean?" he continues. "No, son," she says, "the dark isn't mean." "It's nice." he surmises, "It hugs me."

"What hugs you, son?" she asks with a grin. "The dark hugs me," he says smiling. And we just look at each other -- speechless -- AGAIN -- because this is just another one of those moments when we particularly begin to worry that we can't possibly be doing enough to stimulate this astounding little mind.

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