He dresses up like Dr. Who, a style all of his own, a conglomeration of the outfits he has seen on TV, through however many Doctors he has witnessed on-screen. A hat, bought when he was 2 (which still fits 2 years later - just - thanks to us buying very large to fit his enormous head), a tweed jacket, much adored, which was a present from Grandma, hastily purchased in Next as soon as she set eyes upon it, and a long, long scarf from Chrissy. He flicks the scarf around his neck, confident in the fact that it will hang just right, sets his hat on the back of his head, and is ready to go.
He has far more style - and confidence - than I ever hope to have. He likes the attention his outfit brings ("that girl said I'm cute!"), and lives to imagine. Dressing up has always been his thing - spiderman at his first nursery (we have treasured pictures of them hanging him upside down, costumed up, to kiss his best friend), Darth Vadar as soon as we moved, princesses at school.
He loves hats. His much adored monkey hat, now approaching its fourth winter, a gift from Grandad, came free with PG Tips, and started the craze. He would happily spend hours in shops putting them on, pulling faces in the mirror. Too often I am in a rush and I think, now, with him starting school and his childhood accelerating at an impossible race, maybe we should do this - spend as long as he wants, with endless hats. Sod the glares of the shop assistants, and make the most of his simple pleasures whilst we still can. He looks bloody good in a hat.
Spotlight off The Bear, I can't help but look at The Rooster and wonder what will spark his desires. At the moment, he despises socks, unless he can take them off. He squeals loudly at anything red. What will fuel his interests? As I write this, he has just pulled himself up on the footstool. I don't want his desires to be climbing. Argh.