Growing up as the children of two sf/fantasy writers gives children a slightly different lease on life than the average littl;e tyke, as can be seen in this snippit from March of 2002, back when Orville was not yet four:
This morning, I’m laying in bed trying to get a few last minutes of sleep before I have to get ready for church and Orville comes in.
“Mommy, you have to draw!” (he probably said daw, but I’ll edit the Orville speech for clarity of readability.)
Me: “Mommy doesn’t draw, Sweetie, you have to ask Daddy.”
Orville: “Daddy, you have to draw!”
So John takes the magnidoodle pad from him and says: “What should I draw, Orville?”
Orville: “Thululu!” by which, of course, he means the green plush Cthulhu that the
Elder Spawn left on our door one day. He was playing with Thululu all last night, during which time, Thululu defeated a dragon, a plane, and a large butterfly. (This makes me laugh every time I read it. But in its defense the red paper butterfly was almost as large as the plushy Cthulhu. 😉
So, John starts drawing Cthulhu and Orville goes running off to get his Thululu doll. He comes back with Thululu and the dragon (from Dragontails).
So, I’m laying there, half a sleep and I hear:
“They have to fight!” declares Orville, holding up the Cthulhu doll and the dragon.
John in a dry voice, “This will require him to rise and destroy all life on earth.”
Orville: “Thululu has to get him!”
John: “He will have to arise from Bikini Atoll and drive us all mad.”
Orville: “Thululu got him!”
John, in a sad dry voice, “At a great price, but perhaps it was worth it.”