Monkey

When Jack was 3 (I think), Grandma gave him this stuffed monkey that would say Ooo Ooo, laugh when you tickled its foot, hiccup after being given a bottle, and other stuff. It kind of freaked me out a bit to be honest, and Jack mostly lukewarm on it as well. Every once in a while the monkey would get taken out and play, but he spent a lot of time peering over the edge of the living room toybox.

In the last week, two years later, things have changed. I don't know if it was Kate first or Jack, but now the two of them together have adopted Monkey. In the mornings they give him breakfast, sitting him at their little play table and laying out quite a spread of play food. Jack looks for fruit in particular -- "Monkeys like fruit," he explains sagely -- so all the toy apples, bananas, and what have you adorn the table for Monkey's feast. "Is a cucumber fruit?" he asks. No, Jack. "Is papaya a fruit?" Yes, Jack.

They also put monkey down for naps, covering him with a blanket. This morning I saw Kate sitting facing monkey, as if they were going to play pattycake or something. Not sure if that actually occurred. She was talking to him, though.

When Jack was getting ready for school this morning, he asked me to take care of Monkey. "If he hiccups, that means he wants food," Jack said. I'm not sure I followed his reasoning, but I said, OK.

Evidently not convinced, Jack spent his last 10 minutes before going to school writing instructions out for me. "How do you spell 'monkey'?" he asked. And so on. When he was finished, he taped the note instructions up for me to see.

There was a picture of Monkey, so I wouldn't get confused. And the note read, "Monkey should only be fed when he hiccups."