Tricycle Parcel Service
"I want a CHEESEBURGER with NO CHEESE and NO MEAT!" That's a bun, for those of you keeping score at home, but Eli 3.1 doesn't see it that way yet. He'll just remove everything he doesn't want until all that's left is the desired piece.
I'm the same way. Just last week, Gloria said "Would you like to go to dinner with a few couples, then go see a performance of the Austin Symphony? Maybe we could even stop for coffee with everyone on the way home."
"I want to do all that," I said, "with no couples and no symphony and no coffee and no everyone."
Eli 3.1 also had one of those days today that require running commentary, just so that all potential disaster situations are duly broadcast. Like this:
"Dear, Eli has his head in the hamper."
"Dear, Eli has the luggage carrier out."
"Dear, Eli has the hamper on the luggage carrier and thinks he's a garbage truck."
Just a typical day around our house.
We also have our own in-home delivery service now. Gloria bought Eli 3.1 a tricycle made out of pieces of an aircraft carrier or something. It's German, and I think if they'd made their tanks out of it they would have won the war. If our planet is ever devastated by nuclear weapons, in the midst of the rubble-strewn, black and white landscape will be bright red and yellow Kettler trikes, having survived without a scratch.
Eli 3.1 likes to do laps around the house on this little trike, and since it's very maneuverable, he can do so at a high rate of speed. In the last two weeks, though, the Kettler has been converted from an F1 racer into a delivery truck. Whenever our doorbell rings with a delivery from UPS or Fed Ex (games and books, and it's a steady stream), Eli 3.1 will run over to the Kettler, hop on board, and shout "I'll get it!" He pedals to the door, which I've opened, and he'll go out on the porch and get the package. He puts it into the basket on the back of his trike, pedals over to me (I've gone back to the couch as ritual demands) and shouts "Daddy! You have a package!" Then he takes it out of the basket and hands it to me, saying "Here you go, sir."
Next week he'll be asking for a signature and two forms of I.D.
Gloria calls it TPS (Tricycle Parcel Service)--or Ped-Ex.