Aquatic Addictions

I've always felt that I have a bit of an addictive personality.  When I feel stress or pressure, I am quick to duck tail and cover, searching out whatever interests me as a distraction and absorbing as much of it as possible.  Sometimes that might be an activity or a friend or even a blasted television show, but I can list at almost any time which addiction will propel me through tough times.

Cael takes after me in this regard.  Not the overwhelming-susceptibility-to-stress part, but the obsessive part; his interests always being very one-dimensional and clear as day.  First it was trains.  Briefly it was tractors. Then it was dinosaurs, and even today superheroes captivate his attention like nothing else.

Graham is a completely different animal.  A weasel, perhaps.

Graham is eclectic in every sense of the word.  His taste in food or television spans multiple genres, and his collection of favorite toys reveals nothing about his personality or preferences.  But if there is one constant in my youngest son's life, it is his love of screwing around with water. 

When Graham was very little, he loved to take baths in the bathroom or kitchen sink, and he would splash and wriggle in the water until the floor was as wet as the inside of the basin.  When he grew a bit older, he discovered the magical properties of wet toilet paper and conducted daily experiments to discover how much tissue our home's plumbing could tolerate.  Just earlier this year, our foray into potty training, while successful in releasing us from the iron grip of diapers, reinvigorated Graham's interest in the wonder of the bathroom.

And that is why I find myself this morning, on my water-soaked knees, retrieving bits of water-logged construction paper light-sabers from the junction of the carpet and the vinyl flooring.  And while I could use the fantasy of his future marine biologist earnings as a stress-reliever, I think I'll stick to caffeine and a good book.

Hopefully the pages are still dry.