Dusty and Max

Here are two mama-made dudes who get into more pickles, wrestling matches, and adventures with my son than you'd ever imagine (unless your son also has a beloved doll). Dusty's long stringy arms are perfect for tying around chair rungs, banisters, and into other precarious positions. When he was brand new, he had a ten gallon hat, a white shirt, a bandanna, and a holster. He's lost all but his favourite jeans in his gallivants.

As Jude heads up the stairs to bed, he invariably says, "Wait, I forgot Dusty"...he runs back down the stairs, and searches in Dusty's usual haunts: under the coffee table, under the kitchen table, under the piano.

Max is a somewhat more subdued fella. He's a sidekick of sorts. He's like Robin to Batman, like Bert to Ernie, like Jack Lemon to Walther Matthau. He is the voice of reason when Dusty wants to try something dangerous.

A conversation with Jude as I tucked him into bed last night:
Jude: Mom, Dusty and Max are circus performers! (Max and Dusty perform crossover backflips)
Me: That's amazing! But it's time for them to go to sleep now, or they'll have to come downstairs with me.
Jude: But, mom. They're not tired. They've been sleeping all day!

I kiss my two girls goodnight, then bestow a kiss upon my three boys: Jude, Dusty, and Max settle in for a well-earned rest. Sweet dreams, boys.