Cleaning out my closet in the seventh grade, I came across my sister's teddy bear. I handed it to her, explaining I wasn't sure how it ended up in my closet.
"Um...." she began.
"Here, take your bear," I said, holding it out to her again.
"So, it's actually your teddy bear," she told me.
"No it's not. This one is yours."
"Okay, don't get mad," she began. My big sister then explained that when I was too little to understand the value of money, she bought my teddy bear from me for two cents. Nice.
Oliver has a completely understandible habit of wanting everything that is meant for Charlie. We were blessed with many gifts when Charlie was born: blankets, stuffed animals, bath toys...which were all quickly confiscated by Oliver. This will be interesting when Charlie is old enough to realize he really doesn't own anything.
Among our generous gifts was a gift card to Target from my coworkers, so Charlie, whose nuks have all fallen into a black hole (undoubtably with single socks and black pens), went with me for a little shopping spree. Among our loot, we bought an incredibly-soft blanket with a monkey hood. Oliver saw it and asked to see it, quickly proclaiming that it was his.
"No, Oliver, that one is Charlie's," I explained, determined to have something that belongs to just my youngest.
"My monkey blanket," he said admiringly.
"It's Charlie's, honey."
Oliver quietly carried the blanket under his arm for several minutes. He then looked at me and announced decisively, "I'll buy it."
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