His brothers are three and six years older than him. I put his older brother’s outgrown clothes in the basement, and, with a pang, take most of the hand-me-downs from the twin girls down the street to Goodwill instead. I get it off him every five days or so to wash it, and he puts it back on as soon as it comes out of the dryer. Later in the day, I’m cleaning out his older brother’s closet, bagging things for Goodwill, and he pounces on a worn-out Spiderman t-shirt that is much too big for him. He puts on jeans and a plain white t-shirt. One day, he refuses every t-shirt in his drawer that has pink anywhere on it, or cap sleeves, or flowers. He is not yet two and we still think he’s a girl.
He’s definitely up to something.įinally, he answers: “I am doing,” he says, “what I want to do.” I hear cupboard doors opening and closing I hear the rattle of things being taken down from shelves he’s probably had to put a stool on top of a chair to reach. After a bit, I realize that the water has been running for much longer than it takes for him to wash his hands. I am at the dining room table, and my five-year-old is in the bathroom. Tiny Tornado after a recent trip to the barbershop.
