He loves me. He loves me not.

Simon’s emergent writing skills are improving every single day. He uses the phonetic spelling when writing but I still get it. I understand what he wants to say. The great thing (?) is that he has so much to say. The words flow out of his mouth (and on the paper) like a stream that never ends from the time he wakes until he sleeps again.

He loves me not

 
The stories, the anecdotes, from his day are non-stop. Today at the park he told another mom that he couldn’t stay long to play because his dog, Lizzy, was in the car. "One time my mom killed our bunny, Lulu, because she left him out in the sun too long. We don’t want that to happen to Lizzy so we gotta play fast."

When I tell him it’s time to go, he gets upset. "I don’t want to go. I want to play. My friend is here from Ms. Conway’s class. Can we stay just five more minutes? We’re playing dinosaurs and I’m a plant-eating dinosaur that likes meat. Here’s our hiding cave. Here hold my food."
 
He thrusts a hand-full of torn grass in my hand. I silently feel like stomping my foot on the floor. We stay and play because although it’s warm outside, it’s not really hot. 

When we finally make it home, he immediately sees Cooper the neighbor boy. They spend 15 minutes jumping on the trampoline. He comes inside hot and stinky. I let him watch Animal Planet because I’m tired. Matt’s at work.

He eats chicken nuggets for dinner. He plays trains with Bennett. He whines because I make him shower and wash his hair. 

We finish reading The Indian in the Cupboard.

I find this note:
 

He loves me

 

I decide to forgive him for telling the dead bunny story.

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