1. Bettany wakes first from the nap. I am hurrying around preparing an activity for Alec. I'm going to bury some chicken bones from lunch in the garden and get him to dig them up as dinosaurs. Bettany and I become conspirators rifling through a box of ornaments in the attic in search of a skull.
2. In the same box is a kindle of Beanie Baby cats that I inherited from my grandmother. I have kept them carefully with the tags attached all these years because I labour under the delusion that these saggy little felines are worth something (they are really not). Within minutes I am hooking a reddish pulp that was once one of the tags out of Bettany's mouth. She laughs at me as if she knows these things are worth more as toys than as Ebay listings.
3. To read a comic book to Alec: he is fond of Copper, dreamlike scenes from the life of a boy and his dog. I used to feel I needed to explain the imagery and all the 'givens' that we use to make sense of social interactions, but now I hold back. Alec asks if he wants to know; and I am rarely able to second guess the odd bits of information he wants to fill in his worldview's gaps.