Today, after E awoke from his afternoon nap, we were having some quiet time in the rocking chair. (Well, secretly Mommy was hoping he might go back to sleep, but no dice.) Then he leaned forward and declared, clear as anything, “My umbrella.”
I figure he was referring to the way his naps are like a metaphor for the overarching consciousness of humanity and how it fades in and out, sleeping and waking, sometimes allowing us to learn from our mistakes, sometimes seemingly erasing our memories so that we are forced to take an embryonic perspective.
Or, I think he was looking at his socks, so he was probably ruminating on the way we are all obliged by societal norms and low temperatures to shield our bodies from the human gaze, as from the rain, with an (over?-)abundance of clothing.
It was one or the other, for sure.