That crisis conquered, we proceeded on with our day.
While those temper flare-ups (for the stupidest, most asinine reasons ever) happen at least once a day, I'm still bemused by his burst of imagination activity.
Picture this: We're at the breakfast table. He has a PB&J on bread, cut into the shape of a dinosaur (his "roar bread"). I have PB&J on an English Muffin, cut in half. He asks from half of my muffin, announces that it's a lion, and starts the Great War of Dinosaur and Lion at our dining room table. The war raged on in his head as the two parties tackled and fought, shouting toddler-ese obscenities at each other.
Another time, he's narrating the actions of Scoop (of Bob the Builder fame) as he terrorizes a small city of matchbox cars. "Uh-oh! Crash!" as Scoop finally is plunged off of the blanket chest into the abyss below. The trains regularly make runs around the living room of Sodor as they bicker back and forth about Bulgy's errant behavior and Toby's slowness.
When my BFF Mary came over last weekend to take Anna's 1-year pictures, Ben wanted to be the star. Contrary to his behavior from his own photo shoot months ago when he refused to acknowledge the camera, he jumped in front of the lens and started hamming it up with various Vogue-ish poses and grins. My boy. Delightful. I love him dearly.
