Italy

(Warning: this post may be terribly boring to those of you not interested in the inner lives of four year old boys. Sorry. But really, you can’t have come here looking for real excitement, right? What with my super charged four post a month schedule and all…)

When 2012 opened on the Monkey family, we were a family of three (with two adjacent members in the southwest busy being nearly grown-up men). Then the baby came along and there were four of us.

Then Tanken and Tonken came along, making us, briefly, a household of six.

Tanken and Tonken were the boy’s imaginary friends, arriving in textbook fashion after the major life disruption of a new sibling arriving. I’m still not entirely clear on the gender and exact nature of their relationship to each other (brother and sister? Maybe?) but as imaginary friends go, they seemed like a good lot and they gave the boy an outlet to talk about his feelings. Tanken and Tolken sometimes had a new baby sister too, after all.

Somewhere along the line, we stopped hearing so much about T-sqaured but now I know where they are.

They live in Italy.

Obviously.

My son has, apparently, a whole other life in Italy. He was born in Italy and lives there with his other family. They speak “Italy” as the official language there and everything is better in Italy.

His baby in Italy? Always takes long naps and never cries.

His bedtime in Italy? Midnight, in the dark dark night.

That food I want him to try? No thanks, he ate it in Italy and knows he doesn’t like it,

Nobody is a crook or bad guy or uses “gum shooters” in Italy.

The whole Italy thing is so interesting to me in terms of being able to watch him use it as a tool to make sense of his world and to work out the divide between what he wants and what he has.

On a related note: I love four. It is a dandy age.

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