The Secret Life of Three

“I don’t want to go home” he cried fretfully.

“I want to go to my house.”

I tried to tell him that home was his house- we all lived there together – but he wasn’t having any of it. Three insisted that his house was somewhere else and the only place he wanted to be.

*sound of heart splintering like smashed window on abandoned lot*

Upon further questioning we learned that:

Three’s house was at his college, which is blue.

He keeps a race car there and also a monster truck, a monkey and a space shuttle, though he was at great pains to point out that he does not often visit the moon because it is very small and one might fall off and get a big owie.

He does not live alone.

He has (deep breath) another mother.

*Large bulldozer rolls back and forth over previously broken glass while hooligans look on and laugh manically*

Her name, I was told, is Peanut-and-Keenut. She is “Great”.

He loves her more than me because, apparently, she makes him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I MAKE HIM PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES! I DO! I DO!

But they don’t count. They’re not as good as Peanut-and-Keenut’s sandwiches and any further protests from  me will inevitably lead to a dismissal:

“Stop talking! I busy.”

*sweep up any remaining shards and deposit in dumpster*

I’m not the only person to be replaced. Six has been usurped by an alternative big brother.

His name is Gayboy. (Yes, I did check. Several times.)

RANDOM!?

There is no sign of a second, ersatz father, about which Husband feels quite smug. Or he did for a day or two until Three changed his mind and said that actually there were four Daddies there and they each had a very big tractors, bigger than Husband’s, though he did mention kindly that his biological father might be allowed a short ride in a borrowed vehicle.

Freudian?

At Three’s house there are superior pets to the poor, timid Burrito, our ginger cat, who by now spends most of his life either under our bed or out of the house trying to avoid small children. The boy apparently owns a cheetah, a giant snake and a monkey,  none of whom ever defecates which is lucky for Three as he will have quite enough trouble cleaning up after himself. It emerges that Peanut-and-Keenut does not change nappies, yet Three is adamant that he will not use the potty at college, either.

I’m not quite sure how that is going to work out for them. Three seemed fairly untroubled by this small detail but I’m sensing a small crack (geddit?) in the foundation of their relationship. He can enjoy her sandwiches, indulge in their eerily hygienic pets and play with his truck for a while, but sooner or later he’s going to fill a nappy to overflowing and he won’t be happy about it when his “mummy” makes an ickyface and won’t wipe his bottom.  I’m also hoping that after a while he’ll get bored of the same old snacks, or when he falls off the moon, Peanut-and-Keenut will not know how properly to kiss a big owie, or fill his race-car with gas.

Then he’ll have to come back to my house.

And perhaps in time, with a little encouragement and understanding, he’ll come to regard it as home.

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