Jefferson, Tell The Scrivener To Write On

This afternoon Aaron took my pen from me (as he frequently does), then kept it out in the hall while I lay pitifully in bed looking on. I tried to convince him to bring it back, but to no avail; he apparently is too unsophisticated to appreciate the finer points of my reasoning. He picked up his stuffed cat and began to try and draw on it. Our interchange went something like this:

Aaron: Daw! Meow!

Daddy: No, Aaron, we don't draw on Meow. Will you bring daddy back his pen and I will give you a crayon instead?

A (dropping the kitty and moving to the wall): Wahl?

D: No, nonono, not on the wall either.

A (moving to the bedroom door): Daw doh?

D: No, we don't draw on the door. We draw on paper. Like the paper in that box right there. Why don't you get some?

A (with a sound of dawning realization, as if this is the first time he has heard this and he is amazed by it): Oh!

I did eventually get my pen back, but it took some maternal intervention. It's good to see that although he is not easily dissuaded, he can at least be diverted.