The Magic Number

In any relationship, often the way to smooth over difficulties is to introduce a third party. You know what I mean - couples have a baby, one or other partner goes extracurricular on it, legal parties bring in a mediator - that sort of thing.
When Sweeney gets up in the morning, he invariably arrives downstairs with a toy for himself and one for me. I think it's just the nicest thing. They're always chosen to match - he'll bring down two bears, or two cars, or Bert and Ernie. This morning I found that he'd brought down Dog and set him up where the cat's been sleeping. Nice.

We have to accommodate one or more of Sweeney's toys any time we venture out of the house. Some days, it's just a Hot Wheel; other days, it's his dinosaur; on days where I'm just letting everything fly by, it's his enormous tow truck and matching monster truck. It drives me nuts, keeping track of it all.

But I digress. A third party has taken up Residence Proper with us. He has no real name; sometimes he's referred to as "Monster". Today he resolved the prickly issue of whether Sweeney needed an afternoon sleep by occupying Sweeney's bed, thereby rendering it impenetrable and forcing Sweeney to stay up and doing stuff. I love how Sweeney not only tucked him in, but gave him his current favourite book to read and made sure Pooh was nearby. After I took this photo, he sat down on the bed and "read" the story to him. It's a whole other post in itself, what that kid thinks is going on in that story. Sometimes I think it'd be better to let him nut out what's in his books from the drawings alone, because his versions are glorious.
Monster had a monster nap, as it turned out, and we had to set him up with a special blanket and cushion at the end of the bed, so Sweeney could hit the hay himself tonight.

So far, I don't mind him being here, but we'll see what happens when I hit him up for rent and kitty ...