Theresa B.'s Page

A child is a reminder of our own mortality, so it's funny that Owen is obsessed with death. He asks us almost every day why people die. Why pumpkins die. Even batteries in the camera. I tell him everything dies. Everything falls apart. He's soothed by this explanation. Spiritual Entropy. But five isn't just philosophical. When I ask him to pick up his toys, Owen says, "They're not toys, they're boys!" His favorite nighttime routine is mixing up the words to a familiar nursery rhyme. "Hickory Pickory Pock. The horse ran up the building!" He loves robots, space and especially robots in space. Transformers, dragons and dinosaurs. He wants to be a toymaker when he grows up, so he can make toys for all kinds of kids. And a police officer "to make sure the bad guys can't hurt people." But mostly he wants to be a kid forever. I'm so lucky that he'll always be mine.