"I'm tired of being a person," Miles said as we drove onto our driveway.

I switched my gaze from the road to my rear view mirror so that I could see his eyes.

"I'm tired of pretending," he sighed. "I want not be a person. I want to be a barn."

I repeated his words back to him as we neared a barn.

"Maybe be a pony," he said as we passed our neighbor's horse. "Maybe sun, maybe trees."

We were 20 feet from a decaying rowboat half-hidden in the woods by our house. "Maybe boat."

I cut the engine and unlocked our car doors. By the time I leaned in to unbuckle Miles from his car seat he was aglow again. Something had restored his faith in the human journey.

He cupped my face in his palms and sang, "You turn on TV for me? Curious George on!"

Four years old, almost. I had no idea how charming life at four could be.