When Allison and I were preparing for the retreat, she stopped by to drop off the prayer journals, which needed wrapping. Her youngest two kids, Kimberly and Timothy were with her. Most people at our church refer to them, affectionately, as Kimmy and Timmo. Apparently, this includes my son. Awhile after they'd gone, he came to me yelling about Mimmo. I had no idea what on earth he was saying. I finally figured it out when he ran to the front window, looked out and pointed down the street screaming, "Mimmo!"
Me: Oh! Timmo?
Me: You want to play with Timmo?
G: Yeah. Mimmy.
Me: And Kimmy?
G: Yeah. Mommy.
Me: Me? (Pointing to my chest)
G: No. Mimmo Mimmy Mommy.
Me: You'll see them again. I promise.
Today I had to see the doctor because of a lingering conjunctivitis that is driving me crazy. Usually I take the kid with me and just keep an eye on his antics. I figured that what with my eyes being the one thing that the doctor was going to be looking at, I'd better see if I could get someone to watch Garrett. Since Mimmo and Mimmy and their mommy live about three minutes from the doctor I asked if she could watch him for a half hour. Thankfully, she could. When I picked him up I was glad that he shrieked my name in glee because I was starting to think he wanted to be recognized as the seventh member of their family. But when we got in the car and drove down the street he mournfully wailed, "Mim!" I guess it doesn't matter to Garrett that he's seven years younger than Tim, he just might be his best friend.