I took out my sewing box after dinner: Mom gave some of Q’s old clothes to O, and one pair of pants are too tight; one button fell off O’s tweed jacket and one for a pair of my pants, then two holes in another pair of nice pants that needs some artful work.

It used to be that I could not sit down on the sofa without O coming over to me and grabing my thumb, “Mommy, play with me.” But these days, he seems more contended playing by himself.

So I sat on the sofa, did my sewing under a lamb. And O crawled around and under me directing his various vehicles, while telling a story involving me and him first on a train, then transferred to a double-decker bus, then a trolley, then a taxi, then back to the train…

“Mommy, have you getting on the bus yet?”

“Yes.”

“Which level are you on, top or bottom?”

“I am on the top, I like to sit high.”

“But the top level (of the double-decker bus) is not air-conditioned, is that OK? ”

“That is fine. It is not too hot today.”

“Have you sat down?”

…

It would have been better, I thought as I sew,  if I had on a pair of reading glasses,  and if I were sewing under the light of a oil lamp, but I conceded to admit that this is a picture-perfect for a moment of mother and son.