His legs are so long that he is the entire length of the bathtub, head to toe

Tonight was the program picnic. Two hours after its start time, Turner and I plod across the parking lot just as the director starts to make announcements. The picnic, "with boys and big girls to play with," has been held as a reward for a well-behaved Turner in the grocery and while I made a salad for the picnic. Yet, we arrive at precisely the moment he must continue being still and silent. If nothing, "three" has shown us a boy incapable of still and silent.

The moment I sense his whine to emerge I bend to him and say, "Do you see that man up there talking? That is Mommy's boss. When he stops talking, you can talk." He obliges, and the people up front later than sooner, cease speaking. He plays soccer with the medley of people eager to offer him undivided attention. The sun lasts about an hour, during which I finally get to eat something and Turner scores on all of my female friends at the soccer net. He comes to me while I am speaking to the director about comp lists. I pass him a plate of food and facilitate the bartering system of what he must eat to get to dessert. Tom and I continue to speak while Turner nibbles. Just as we are discussing the largeness of Turner's vocabulary and how smart he is, Turner says, "My mom is smart too," a piece of chocolate cupcake dangling from his pucker. Tom replies to him and Turner says, "Yeah. She reads lots of books, and she listens to ALL my stories." His stories, of course, are all that I know of life right now, and I love it.