This morning my son was lolling on the sofa in his pajamas after breakfast, as he often does. He asked aloud (to no one) where his clothes were, as he often does. I fetched an outfit from his dresser upstairs, as I often do, I’m sorry to say. I set the outfit on the sofa, and he said, in a voice that was both sincere and slightly exaggerated, “Thank you, Dada. That’s very encouraging.” And I laughed at his general nuttiness, as I often do.