We are in the middle of hardcore make-believe. There’s a lizard habitat in my bedroom. An upside down laundry basket, underneath which lives a teeny green lizard named Avocado, along with an empty almond jar in case he gets hungry and a sock for a beez.
I can draw the city. See the taxi and the train under the ground?
I love how Tuck's imagination has helped me get back in touch with my own. When he brings me a stick and says it is a fish or a frog or an alligator, I can see exactly what he means. I appreciate discussing shapes in the clouds and pretending to launch rockets and shielding myself from imaginary swords. I appreciate this fantasy phase. I love that he can become whomever he chooses, that he spends so much time creating complex dramas. I love that he loves to dream, that he spreads wonder and whimsy through our world. But before this? I never imagined that all this play could feel like such hard work.
We have to deliver dinner, brown-bagging bean burritos and boxing up pepperoni pizza, knocking on the dining room door. We have to let Tuck answer, presenting a palm full of coins from the kitchen junk drawer, exclaiming Fanks! I'll enjoy! before he'll sit down at the table to eat.
We have to run, RUN, around the house and then we have to run out of energy, which requires elaborate "battery changes." For example, the green battery goes in your elbow: Hold your right arm out, let me unzip your skin. I'll throw the dead battery in the trash, did you hear it crack? I'll put the new battery in, it is green, that means go again!
We have to find "keys" to unlock "gates" and remember passwords to travel over "bridges" just to get from one room to the next.
I'm a friendly bear, not a ferocious bear, just a friendly one. Hear me roar?!
JEB
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