Cookies

"Oh I have a plan!" chirps the Verbalist, coming out of his brown study. "First we drink our milks, then we can have some cookies." He has been on a cookie kick all day. Got up - why I feel like having a cookie! Finished the oatmeal, why I deserve a cookie! Got dressed, um, cookie? Why they are just there, in the blue jar Mom, just so you know.

"Do you know," asks the Verbalist disingenuously, "that the word cookie starts with the letter 'C'?" I make a vague noise of agreement, the constant lobby for a cookie has intensified since lunchtime. I turn to him.

"Tell me, how do you say cookie in Sign Language?" Story Time at the local library always includes a word or two in sign language, he might actually know. His brow furrows and he looks out the car window.

"Look! That cloud looks like a cookie!" He points.

"With choc'late chips! Yummmmm." pipes the Muralist from the backseat. She had been wisely silent during this crusade, preferring to keep her powder dry until victory seemed imminent.

"Nice try," I say dryly.

"Wellllllll," drawls the Verbalist, stretching out the word, "I know how to sign banana."

"Oh good! You may have one of those then; good thing I got some at the store."

"Not a banana!" cry the two elder siblings in unison. "Silly mom! We're not monkeys!" continues the Muralist, conveniently forgetting her banana consumption the day before.

We pass Penn Cove and then climb the hill to the narrow neck of the island. Where North Island had been warm and breezy, we now find ourselves entering a misty fog bank.

"Not summer yet," observes my son as rain splashes on the windshield. "Just the right weather for some hot chocolate and cookies!"