Noah has a new favourite movie -- the Disney/Pixar classic Toy Story. I quite like it, too, since I remember watching it with my youngest siblings when THEY were Noah's age. It's a cute little movie, and my son's already singing "You got a friend in me" to people and pets and plant life alike.
Noah's not sure yet if he's in camp Woody or camp Buzz, but he has picked up on certain plot elements. He then applies them to his own life, which is rather unsettling (and reinforces our commitment to NOT let him watch Rambo until he's 25, despite his constant pleading.)
Yesterday morning when I popped him in the bath, he inspected the bottom of his foot. "Whatcha doing, Noah?" I asked. "Mommy or daddy writed der name on me? Hmm? Hmm?" Oh dear. Perhaps we should have, like Andy did to Buzz and Woody in his new movie. This wasn't in the adoption education training I took.... but I grabbed a bath crayon anyways. I got as far as drawing an orange "M" on the sole of my son's foot before the tickle factor spoiled my plans to "claim" Noah by marking him as mine.
Despite getting off on the right foot, my love of Toy Story would turn to loathing later that afternoon. "Mommy, you gotta moving buddy?" Noah asked. (In Toy Story, all the toys choose a 'moving buddy' in an effort to keep everyone accounted for when the human family moves.) I thought "oh, how sweet." I smiled at my son and said "Noah, we're not moving, but if we do someday, do you want to be my moving buddy?"
He thought about it for a moment and shook his head "No, DADDY's my moving buddy." Fair enough, I thought. But I challenged his loyalty anyways... "Who's gonna be mommy's moving buddy then?"
And Noah pondered my question thoughtfully. "Mommy, you can have SANCHO." Which would be fine, except that Sancho is our neighbour's four pound chihuahua. Gee. Thanks, Noah.
