The scream started in the boys' bedroom and ran down the hallway until it crawled with its owner, one Proximo, into bed with me. "I think the smoke detector is up to something," he said to me, in his most serious voice, "The red light was blinking."
Proximo has a problem with inanimate objects. He lost three weeks of sleep last summer to a reoccurring dream about the toilet plunger. The thing would be waiting for him in the bathroom, and then chase him around the house, trying to suck his brain out of his head. He makes us promise to move the vacuum away from his bed's line of sight. Any vacuum left, even unplugged, in the hallway is just an invitation to horrors.
So it just makes sense that the smoke detector, with its nefarious red, blinking eye would be the next tormentor to rise up to defeat our hero. All the better for the bunk bed to make its move, trapping our young hero between the wall and the slats.
These days Proximo mostly concerns himself with writing love notes and posting them. He makes his own stamps, as you can see:
He and Lulu play all morning before it's time for school. They are great friends, if a little preoccupied with yelling at each other.
"Have a good day at school," I said to him on his way out the door.
"I will," He responded with serious eyes, "I will do my best so I can get into BYU."
Later that day, over a plate of macaroni, he told me, "I always do the right thing at school so I can go to BYU and get my job."
I have no idea, guys, he just came this way.