Soren is Soren. He's just so very....Soreny. There's really no one in the world like him, I'm pretty sure. Approximately 50 times a day he asks me what my name is. Considering that I'm only home for, like, 4 hours a day, that's a lot. Frequently I'll say something like, "My name is Jemimah Louisa Alexander," and he'll be like, "No it's not! It's Mommy Kafween Skousen!"
A week or two after Christmas, Soren asked me if I thought that I might get a p**** (name of body part omitted for internet safety) for Christmas next year. He seems to feel sorry that I'm the only one in the family without one of of those particular body parts. (Just for the record, however, I do not feel one ounce of sorrow for this particular lack, Freud's crazy theories notwithstanding.)
Also, once when I was rocking him with my eyes closed, he shoved his face right into my face and whispered loudly, "Wake up! It's Scrisscruss!" ("Scrisscruss" being his pronunciation of "Christmas." "Scrisscruss orbins" means "Christmas ornaments.)
Soren has become very imaginative lately. He's always conjuring up imaginary friends and bringing them places with us. One morning last week, for example, he informed me that a very nice rooster had kept him safe last night. He invited the rooster and his mommy to breakfast, and we had a very nice conversation. He also had the following exchange with his daddy last week:
Soren: "Daddy, you a balloon."
Daddy: "Uh oh! You popped me."
Soren: "I put you in the garbage."
Daddy: "If you put me in the garbage, I'll get taken away by the garbage truck. Then you'll never see me again."
Soren, after thinking for a moment: "That's okay. Hillwy give me hugs."
He fell on the kitchen floor last week and hurt his face. A short while later he came back and put some duct tape on the spot where he had fallen because he was worried his fall had hurt the floor.
Soren also has a penchant for mitten-wearing. His favorite thing to do is put, like, five mittens on one hand and keep the other one bare. Like a preschool version of Michael Jackson.
He says "Oh! Thank you" a lot. Gratitude is one of his strengths.
If he wants something I have, sometimes he'll ask, "Mommy? Are you a sharing girl?"
He calls Kleenexes "buggy napkins."
He took his toy shopping cart to the grocery store with Abraham and me the other evening. He pushed it right through those automatic doors, strutted up to the cookie table, confidently plopped a box of cookies into his cart, walked on, and grabbed for another box of cookies. It was ADORABLE to see him walking through the store with his tiny little cart. Everyone was gushing about what a cute little helper he was. In the end, he ended up pushing his cart through the checkout line, where he hoisted a box of graham crackers, a bottle of cough syrup, and (yes) a package of cookies up over his head and onto the conveyor belt. The cashier thought he was so cute she gave him a balloon. The woman clearly has good taste.