He's done some adorable things with this flag, like when he put it at the top of the tower he built with legos. He's stood on the curb in front of our house, waving it at the cars passing by, claiming that he was helping the cars "win the race".
A couple of times this week, he's propped the stick of the flag over his ear, in the same manner you would store a pencil. "Look, Mommy," he'd say, "I have an American ear!" I'd give him a hearty courtesy laugh, and he'd be on his merry way to snatch whatever toy was making George happy at that moment.
The fact that he was attaching the flag to any part of his body should have made me very nervous. This is, after all, the same child I found a few weeks ago on our back porch, his pants around his ankles, holding the empty wrapping paper tube he had been sword-fighting with, and urinating into it.
This morning, when Luke was finished with his bath, I helped him dry off and told him to go to his room and put his clothes on. I continued to flat-iron my hair, and a few minutes later, my son, naked as a jaybird, burst into my bathroom.
"Luke," I said, "You are supposed to be getting dressed for Mother Goose!"
"Look at me, Mommy!" he shrieked with glee.
"I see you, you're na-" I was cut off by my utter disbelief.
Luke turned around abruptly to reveal the Stars and Stripes, the subject of our national anthem, nestled snugly between his cheeks.
"Mommy, I have an American..."
"DON'T SAY ANOTHER WORD. TAKE THAT FLAG OUT OF THERE AND GO GET DRESSED!" I shouted.
As he ran off, I laughed so hard, I nearly had a stroke.