Sam’s not taking a bath here; he’s just hanging out.

Whenever there’s activity at the sink, he busily pulls his little chair over, stands on his toes, and looks over the edge like Kilroy. He did this last night, and I jokingly told him, “Get in the sink, Sam-Sam!”

Up went one chubby hock. He got his foot up to the drawer-front, then it stopped, and slowly slid back down to the chair as he peered over with raised brow.

“Get in the sink, Sam!” I said again, laughing.

He marked time in his chair for a few steps, then up went the foot again.

I laughed some more.

At this point, I think Jill felt a little bit sorry for him, so she cometized the sink, removed Sam’s [clean] diaper, and plopped him in there like a thawed turkey.

Then, I took a lot of pictures.

“Liam, can you think of anything else we need from the store?”

“Bread.”

“Yep, we’ve got that.”

“Um… Crackers.”

“Good one. Anything else?”

“And… a fort to build?”

And his name is ‘Hitch Cowslip’. I think I’ll make a fake movie poster. Jill says he needs a sidekick. Like maybe a bale of hay with sass.

Everyone is happy. We’re on the cusp of a weekend. Bill is freshly home from work. He sits on the kitchen floor and pulls Nate into his lap and wraps his arms around him.

“Hey Buddy! Do you know what day tomorrow is?!”

“What?!”, asks Nate, beaming up at his favorite person in the world.

“After tomorrow, Da-da doesn’t have to go to work for the next day and the next day! We can be buddies!”

“What day?!”, Nate squeals.

“It’s a day that starts with ‘F’,” I say. I blow air through my top teeth, perched on my bottom lip. “fuh-fuh-fuh.”

“What day starts with the ‘fuh‘ sound, Nate?” asks Bill.

Nate waits a beat, lights up, and excitedly screams, “FURSDAY!”

“Water tastes good out of my hands because my skin isn’t all grown up like yours. Your skin is all stickin’ out.”

-Liam, on dermatology, gerontology, and drinking from the bathroom sink