Imagine All the People
Atticus will be turning 4 this week. Every evening he makes his plans for it by making a wish on the wishing star, which is actually a light in a neighbor's tree, for the same thing.
"Star bright, star light, I wish I might, I wish I may, have this wish I wish tonight." Okay, so the rhyme scheme is lost on him, but come on, he's wishing on a freaking floodlight.
He then continues, "I wish for a birthday party."
Um, we're not having a birthday party.
"Who," we ask, "will be at this party?"
He always replies with the name of one kid, and without skipping a beat, he adds, "and my imaginary friends."
We really need to get him some friends.
"Okay, so what do you want for your birthday?"
"I want three things for my birthday, a cake, a table, and a chair." He's a simple man of simple pleasures. Plus imaginary friends don't eat as much cake.
It's cute and funny when we have these conversations, but it is also a little sad. The majority of our friends that have children his age live further away than we care to drive on a whim. His only constant companions are his baby brother, two dogs and some robots we made out of chalk.
Atticus will turn 4 this week, and he'll do it wishing, starless and alone.
I think we'll take him to Disneyland.