Another day, another pitiful attempt to Do Things We’re Supposed To Do In Some Semblance of Order. By noon I had decided that Owen could not be expected to be interested in anything for more than three minutes together, and I was just going to have to rethink the routine thing.

Then the mail came.

In the mail was a birthday invitation. “It’s got Batman!” Owen yelled, then sat down to examine it. A minute passed. Two. Three. FIVE. “Mom?” He called. “Who IS Batman?” Still sitting still, studying the card. I don’t think he even looked up as he asked.

“Batman’s an imaginary guy,” I said. “He’s friendly.” As opposed to, you know, evil. “He’s an imaginary hero.”

“Ah.” And he continued to sit there. After a while he piped up: “I think Batman is also a bad guy.”

I was sort of noncommittal on that point, as I’m sure his thesis could be reasonably argued. And still he sat. THIRTY MINUTES he spent sitting there on the couch, poring over the birthday invitation which he could not even read.

Apparently if I were just willing to incorporate menacing superheroes into our daily routine, I would have his complete and undivided attention. And yet… I do not see that happening. Sigh.