Boy: Super-charged

Dear Readers,

A dear friend of mine gave us a teddy bear hooded towel as a baby gift when Pip was born. As I'm sure you will understand, the baby is not very interested in bathing rituals and much less in what towel he uses. T-boy, on the other hand, has decided it is his, but not for the usual purposes. One morning T-boy made it very obvious that the "T" stood for Turbo. Still in his PJ's, he raced from one end of the house to the other yelling, "Ha-Ha! I'm SUPER-TAR!!"

The kicker? 

 The red and yellow cape. I rolled my eyes and went back to changing the baby. Babies don't need Super-heroes, they want their mommies. I don't need one either, I need a maid. You don't see men in tights running around yelling, "They call me, The Sponginator! Filth, I defy you! Where is Dirt? I must destroy you, once and for all!" 

 Not in Nebraska, anyway. Believe me, I would have noticed if there were. Ok, allow me to drag you away from that mental image and let's get back to my boy. Throughout the day his actions were followed closely by the swirling, swishing fabric of the teddy bear cape.

Super-Car's moment of glory came later that day when he announced to me, "Mom, I weally AM Super-Tar tuz I timbed up da tounter and dot down da dinotaur tup for Yissie and she said I was her hero!"

 Sadly, she turned from 'damsel in distress' to 'villain' faster than you can say, "It's a bird, Its a plane, It's Supe--" -- I had to break up their fight moments after he risked his neck for her. Bee was sure it was a case of Super-car misusing his extraordinary powers. In the years to come I hope the 'hero' impression is the lasting one. For both of them. Oh, and forget I said anything about men in tights, carrying buckets of suds and feather-dusters... never mind!

I gotta get out more,

Raimie