From the back seat he yells, "The moon! The moon! It all fixed!"
My child is astute -- I had no idea there was even something wrong with the moon. "Was it broken?"
"Uh huh."
"What was wrong with the moon?"
"Ownno."
I've been working on him lately to improvise and elaborate. At night he practices by telling us bedtime stories which always go like this:
"One time there was bad Spiderman. He was sticky. He shoot web and it was sticky. Don't touch him. He sticky."
That's the entire story. However, considering it's taken us nearly three years to get him to say that much, I think he's doing great.
But back to the important matter of the broken moon...
I tried another avenue. "Who fixed the moon, Tristan?"
"Ummm... Tori."
"Really? Tori fixed the moon?"
"Uh huh."
"How did she do that?"
"Big wadder."
"Wow, that would have to be a really big ladder."
"Wiwwy big wadder. Tori stwong. She have big muscles."
* * *
On a related note of celestial importance, there is also the matter of something being wrong with the rain.
It was raining the other morning when we were on our way through town. We passed by Wal-Mart which is a very exciting thing because Tristan knows there are toys in there and he's a big stimulator of the economy in that way. (Nobody can accuse us of not being patriotic in a recession.)
The rain was pouring down and as we passed by the parking lot I heard a huge gasp from the back seat.
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE RAIN?"
"What?"
"IT'S RAINING ON WAL-MART!"
Tori hasn't gotten around to fixing that problem yet, I guess.
