Lately Ethan's been winking at me at really odd moments. His technique includes a curt head nod and a pirate-like smirk.
Thing is, I can't tell if he doesn't understand the purpose of a wink or if he's the most effective winker in history.
Today I was sitting on our living room chair eating Craisins out of a napkin in my hand. He ambled over (the swagger is offset by his perpetual nudity) and took one off the top, popped it into his mouth. He climbed on my lap with his spindly half-baby-half-boy arms and legs, slowly folded the corners of the napkin around the pile, and wadded up the Craisins in the palms of his hands. Then he winked at me—curls swishing with the effort of it—gingerly climbed back down, and walked off with the rest of my snack. I was too stunned to react.
He's also been telling me to "shush up" (where he got that from, I don't know, because we don't use such words in our house; we say "shut it" or "zip your lid"), but that's another story.