To Paul: this is how you spent the day you turned 6 years and 2 months old.
Dad calls from Berlin, and you talk to him on the phone as you wake up slowly in bed. Eventually you emerge to have breakfast, under the table in “niblet mode” (pretending to be helpless and silly). We pack your backpack to include a pickle juice bottle filled with water, and you are full of wicked glee at the idea of tricking your classmate Alexander (“he’s seven already!”) into thinking it’s actually pickle juice.
We walk to school with Aunt Camei. On the way, you admire the moon and share facts about it—moonlight is reflected sunlight—and new revelations. “That’s where the sun rises and sets,” you say pointing east, and pointing west, “That’s where the moon rises and sets.” Well… Correctly, you add, “But actually it’s the earth that’s moving.” And you get very still to see if you can feel it.
Approaching the school, you have the important revelation that perhaps your missing water bottles ARE IN THE LOST AND FOUND. What??? It’s sure worth a shot. You visit the box on your way in, but alas, no bottles. The recycled pickle juice container must do.
I don’t hear much about your day, but Aunt Camei picks you up at the end of it, and you have a pleasant walk home. After a snack, you visit the playground, and there things fall apart a bit. Expecting to stay until 5:30, you are extremely dismayed when the return-to-house occurs at 5:26, and fall apart into a defiant wreck. I come home briefly at about this time and take you upstairs to decompress. You share your sense of betrayal, and I attempt to reinforce adult authority before bugging out again for a work dinner. Reconcilliations are made over a screening of Paw Patrol and some Pokemon cards.
I return at 7:30 for the bedtime routine, and read a bit of Matilda and some of the Dangerous Book for Boys for you. Goodnight, little tiger.