One of the more insidious aspects of the Pterodactyl’s attachment disorder is that it smothers his sweet true self. With therapy we’ve been gradually peeling away that insecurity like layers of an onion. And just like onion-peeling, it makes me cry sometimes.
The Tyrant pretty much ruined the boy’s life. Soon after she came home, he said, “I TOLD YOU WE SHOULDN’T HAVE BUYED ANOTHER BABY!” From a financial standpoint, he’s correct.
But he understands now that he can teach her his best tricks – you should hear how many times she says “poop” in a sentence! – and together they have concocted magic potions that could rival anything Al-Qaeda ever made. Finally, I think, he sees her as part of the family – behind the dog, but above the fish.
The other day he decided to write a story on the computer – his first. He wouldn’t let anyone watch as he worked. After a while, he called me over to read, his cheeks swollen with happy pride. Here’s what he wrote:
I have the best sistrs one is a litol annoying I like the ether one
i love them so much the litol ones named (Tyrant) the other one name
is (Diva) I love them becase I just love them so much.
Now you know I’m a lunatic for proper grammar and spelling, and luckily there’s a Sylvan Learning Center right around the corner. But for now? This stuff? I could read it all day. You go, boy.