Mr. Nick

When Nicki comes to my house he pretty much gets to do what he wants to do as long as he abides by the rules. We do a lot of negotiating and rearranging of those rules and always come to a comparable agreement, which is mostly on his behalf. But then, I do insist on using big words and he is expected to at least pretend to know what I’m talking about. And he does.

Last month Nicki’s parents went to Hawaii for a week and Nicki, and his older brother and sister, Ian and Olivia, stayed with us. It was nice, and the rules were negotiated and bent and broken a couple of times yet we all had the greatest time. They made their beds each morning, used their cloth napkins at the dinner table, put their clothes in the hamper after baths, brushed their teeth before bed and learned how to be quiet and quieter as the night came upon us. Just like I taught their mother when she was a little girl.

Yesterday, Nicki’s mother dropped him off so I could watch him while she did some errands. Three hours later she was back to pick him up. I gathered his things and walked them to the door. Nicki stood there for a moment, with his snack still in his hand, looked up at his mom and said, “When are you going back to Hawaii?”

That night I sent his mother this picture. It’s understandable why he would ask such a question.

Nicki is only three.