C is for Cookie

Sweeney's packed in a swag of preschool-grade goofing off into his last weekend as a four-year-old:

• ran and jumped and clambered with Bela;
• played something noisy and shouty and very, very active with Aariz;
• went to a climbing wall with Joe and Kimberley;
• helped me make sourdough, and fish and leek pie;
• took about three years to tidy his room. By which I mean, empty most of what was in his room into the hallway;
• watched Sesame Street and loved it;
• having watched Sesame Street, understood who Cookie Monster is and went nutty over a Cookie Monster storybook he's previously scorned;
• insisted on having his Cookie Monster stories read to him over and over and over;
• watched Ahhh!! Real Monsters and Angry Beavers, and clearly found them a big, fat yawn;
• ate roti and butter chicken at Aariz's house, kind of sort of almost in the manner that Aariz and his family eat it; and
• chatted, sang, danced, played the piano for a bit, made stuff up, did some drawing, co-operated, refused to co-operate, fed the cat, built things, hung up the towels.

You know, the usual ...