Bonding

Last night I was dreaming I was lying in bed scratching my butt and found it was covered in butt zits. No matter where I searched, my fingertips found painful little bumps. I woke suddenly to the sound of Quinn hollering in his room. It was 3 am and he was screaming, "NO WASHEE ABBLES MOMMY NO NO NO!!" I went downstairs to soothe him, assured him I would not wash any apples, and went back to bed.

Just now, standing here in front of my computer, I was reading e-mails and daydreaming and found myself scratching my butt. As you can guess, there were bumps. Mosquito bites, actually. I was covered in them. After a good healthy scratch, I went to the kitchen sink to wash my hands. There was a bowl in the sink, so I picked it up to move it, and Quinn walked in the kitchen calling my name. I turned around, water running in the kitchen sink, and he stopped short and looked at me strangely. Yes, it was a bowl full of apple slices he had been eating last night. They were floating in soapy water.

I exchanged a queer look with my two-year-old son. After a full five seconds, he gave me a little tip of the head, turned and walked back into the other room and stood in the center of the carpet and crapped his pants.