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11/21/2007

Stick, egg

(That title doesn't mean what you think it does.)

Charlie has twigged to the whole reading thing.  Oh, not that he can read; far from it.  But he understands that letters make sounds, and then words, and that to read a word you have to recognize which letters are in it.  Lately he's been applying himself quite seriously to the task.

"S..." he says, looking at the logo on my self-inking address stamp.  "B...E...C...L...R...A!  A!  A is for antelope!  This says antelope!"  No, it says Spectra, but, you know, A for effort.  And antelope.

He doesn't quite know that we read from left to right, even though when I read to him I slowly stroke my finger under the words on the page.  Half the time he does it backwards.  Robert McCloskey's classic Lentil begins and ends with L, he knows, but what happens in between might as well be REDRUM.

And he does something that is so ridiculously appealing that I cannot make myself correct him.  He thinks capital I is...a stick.  Lentil, from the example above, becomes "L-stick-T-M...no, H...N!...E...L."

Stick!  And apparently I do not love him enough to rescue him from the inevitable ridicule he'll face when the nice people at the MacArthur Foundation review his varied accomplishments and say, "You know, we were all over his work as a disaster relief specialist/neurobiologist/installation artist/gospel composer/civil rights leader, but when we noticed he insisted on peppering his scholarly publications with this strange...stick...thing, well...with regret, we had to pass over him."

Because it's just too goddamned charming, is what, ladies and gentlemen of the committee.

So I'd sort of gotten used to the stick.  But then we went to the donut shop so I could get a cup of coffee, and it happened.

Donuts

He walked up to the sign on the counter, bent his head, extended his index finger, and went to work.  From right to left, then, top line:

"Egg...N...stick...K...N...U..."

And then I melted into a runny puddle of adoration right there on the floor, from which I am writing this today.  What, you don't think they ever actually mop there, do you?

And that is all I have to say today about eggs and sticking, except that my hCG test is scheduled for Wednesday, November 28, the day after Charlie's birthday. 

Excuse me, Charlie-egg-s b-stick-rthday.

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