We changed the bedding last night, which seems to be a new ritual. I mentioned it to Fuss while he was watching a show and he lept up and raced to the bedroom. By the time I caught up he was pitching things onto the floor, chanting "Make a Pile!" after every throw.
Having heaved every blanket and pillow overboard, he launched himself onto the mound, rolling around laughing. The sparks of delight that shower off his contact with the world often threaten to catch my hair on fire.
He lay on the mound guiding his purple car around the tangled silk borders of his many blankies for several minutes while I sat on the bed forgetting about pulling on the fitted sheet while he was distracted.
"They're driving home, dada," he said, finally.
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