great words

I wish all our wishes could come true he says, looking at me like his eyeballs have been dipped in glitter.

I know thoughts like these take up a lot of mental real estate.  Lots of other things do too, of course.  He is always, always thinking.  Even when he’s in the middle of playing the iPad he’s thinking about the next time he’ll get to play the iPad, for example.

Do you ever wonder how to the lift the words out of somebody’s head? he asks, hanging upside down on the inside swing.

Even when you’re upside down on the swing you can still look with two eyes, he announces, using the universal "I'm watching you" signal, peace fingers back and forth between our faces.
I am careful not to recycle any of his schoolwork, careful not to sneak another jellybean from his stash.  I can do those things after bedtime.

Sometimes I feel like my body’s on backward.
I am also familiar with that feeling, I assure him, rubbing his shoulders.

You know, there are an infinite number of colors.  Like all the “ish” ones.  If you have a purplish color and you add another color to it, you get a new color.  It’s like lighter or darker purplish. 

I ask where he learns so much and he tells me: I’m just full of great words.
He is.  And I wonder how to lift more of them out of his head.