Matthew has been playing superhero lately. My goodness, he’s jumping like Spiderman, wrestling
invisible bad guys like Batman, and powing invisible evil robots like
Superman. It’s been a bit exasperating
as he leaps from the top of the bed, spontaneously runs from one end of the
house to the other, or suddenly falls to the floor and does a roll, all with a sigh
that “the Joker got" him.
So Sunday I was driving him over to my mother, who
is eighty years old, and as I unbuckle him from his car seat, he says, “Come on
Robin let’s get out of the Bat mobile.”
So in my stern voice, wondering how my mother is
going to handle him, I said, “I don’t want you jumping around at Nonna’s.”
So he replies in a breathy, rebellious whisper, “OK. I’m going to FLY around," with emphasis on "fly."
All I know is when I got back to pick him up he said
he “scored ninety goals on Nonna.” I can
just imagine what went on.
