I Wanna Be A Cowboy...

Dig the purple boots.

I've been feeling out of sorts for a week. Last Tuesday, I very much wanted a nap, but the constantly ringing phone wouldn't let me. Sigh.

At one point, Bird crawled into my bed, snuggled up, and started chatting with me. He told me "Oh, I love you so much and I hope I always will, and that some day you can make my dreams come true."

"Well, little man, I love you, too. I wish I could make dreams come true, but I don't know any way besides to work at them and keep dreaming."

"I am going to be a doctor when I grow up."

"You can be a doctor if you study hard and are willing to work at it. Doctors have to know how to read and write, and understand math, chemistry, and anatomy too."

"And they also have to know how to take babies out of people."

Ahem. "Yes, they do, although babies are usually pretty good about finding their own way out."

"Did I come out of you?"

"Yes, after a doctor performed a special operation to help you out because you weren't interested in coming out on your own."

"OK. I'll be a doctor, but I'm going to need doctor gloves that keep my hands clean. My train gloves (leather engineer's gloves in his size, sent to him by a kind engineer) are OK for digging in a garden - because you have to always remember to wear gloves when you dig and garden, right Mommy? - but they aren't any good for doctoring. So I'll need gloves for that, for when I take babies out of people." Way to think ahead, kid.

At this point, a nap was clearly not in the cards, so I asked him if he'd like to take a walk. He was so excited, he was going to run right outside in his boxers. Good grief, have you seen a five-year-old in plaid boxers? I didn't want to inflict that on the neighbors, so I talked him into getting dressed. We'd had a bit of rain, so he wanted the boots. When we got outside, it was sprinkling lightly, so he ran back in for the hat.

We walked around the neighborhood, looking at houses and chatting about the things we saw. The rain fell harder, plinking on his hat. He held my hand almost the whole time. He told me maybe he didn't want to be a doctor after all, but instead a race driver. I reminded him that he could be both, but he was pretty sure you couldn't be a doctor and a race driver at the same time. I told him I knew a few racing docs, and he had to think about that. Then he decided he would be a cowboy instead, since he already has two cows at home - foam toy ones, mind you, but they are cows.

Back at home, I came in through the garage, but he had to come in through the front door. He rang the bell and waited to be invited in - whereupon he informed me that he was a cowboy, a six-year-old cowboy, and he'd like a quesadilla, please. He ate that and a grilled cheese sandwich, and two apples, all the while asking me about my cats and how to make a grilled cheese sandwich, and about my son. He was especially interested in my son. When I asked about his family, he told me they were all doctors, and he didn't have anywhere to live because they were looking for a home, so could he stay here?

Yep, I reckon.

He sustained the imaginary character all the way until bedtime, and I was hard put not to giggle about it.

I am glad I bought him that hat - he's been trying to take mine (black leather, braided black leather hatband, bought on sale because there's no way I would ever pay full price for it) so I bought him his own when I was at the rodeo (it was part of the Chattahoocheewhatsis Fair) last Friday. Now I think I'll have to spring for some cowboy boots and some sidearms. The horse will have to be a broom, though - I am twenty years removed from the last time I took care of a horse, and I pretty much only remember which end the food goes in, and which end what's left of the food comes out.

At bedtime, he said "Goodnight, ma'am", tipped his hat, and moseyed on into his room.

Now where did he learn that??