This Morning's Shishkababobreakfast

Nothing says Eat Your Breakfast like a Peanut Butter and Jelly and Baloney and Cheese and Olive Shishkakbob!

My Friday Night Silly

My Friday Night Silliness.

I worked late. It is Friday. I am SO happy it is the eve of the weekend. But I am tired.

David is sound asleep. Matthew is all cozy. Nana said she was ready to call it a night and was in bed about 4 seconds after supper.

Michele seemed wired and wanted to watch a movie - that Antonio movie about Ballroom Dancing. I never caught the name, but I only put up a small fight - only a small fight because I knew I was tired and it was Friday and I'd never make it all the way through. But I'd be the Hero,ya know? Watching a girlie movie with the Missus on a Friday Night? Big Hero.

Except it, um, turns out I kinda really liked the movie and I even, um, stayed awake. That's pretty huge. And no, I did not weep like a watery eyed buffalo.


So now, I am pretty much begging to go to bed....I've earned it a particular Hero might think. Hey honey, hubbahubba?

"Oh, yeah right, how about we watch Married To The Mob." Then she says,"I know, I know, even though I have it on VHS and DVD and it's been on PPV since 1979--have you seen it?" (We've seen it about 27 times together...) and she turns on Married to the Mob.

And then she promptly falls asleep.

Hey, You awake?

She jumps, "They just found the girl in the hot tub, didn't they? I'm awake."

You really awake?

She is SO amazingly asleep on the couch under the blanket that I SO amazingly provided against my will in fear she'd fall asleep. She is SO amazingly snoring with her mouth wide open.

I'm SO amazingly thinking of some way to get her back...

I left her on the couch. I started the Antonio Ballroom Dancing movie over again from the beginning. And I changed all the clocks.

I wonder if I'll find this funny in the morning.

Holy Gwaka-maylee and Other Fun Words

Rereading what I wrote about each and every morning got me thinking about all the funny stuff David comes out with. Obviously, the whole poopie-butt thing is driving us and especially Nana crazy. But some things we wish would never end. As he grows and learns new words, or the correct pronunciation, there's a sense of passing; a sense of innocence lost.

One period comes to mind - David did not use the word, Yes. He used the word, Right. As a particular proud Dad, I can only imagine that while in daycare, he was right quite often. Being little and not really talking much, a typical conversation with the check-out girl at the grocery store would go something like:

Hi Cutie, what's your name?
No answer.
My name is Carl, thanks for calling me cutie. Just kidding. Believe me, it never went like that.
His name is David.
Hi David. Is that your name?
Right.
How old are you?
He's two.
You are two years old?
Right.
Do you like balloons?
Right.
Do you like the color blue?
Right.
Do you want a blue balloon?
Right.
What's a really big whale that swims in the ocean?
Blue.
Ok. Whatever. But something about learning to use the word "Yes" changed things forever.

He learned a movie line all on his own from the movie Zorro. Makes his movie-buff Mom all proud.

One night though, it was bedtime and David just would not go to bed. Repeatedly, I kept telling him to get ready and go to bed. He would only ignore me. He was across the room in the big chair and I was actually stuck on the couch in front of a Red Sox game and unable to physically put him to bed. But I was very verbal in my wishes. Over and over, he continued to ignore me. Finally, after an inning or two or four, I was forced to raise my voice, dreading the thought of actually having to get up when it wasn't between innings and say Goodnight. He looks up at me with these little slits for eyes and whispers, seriously, he whispers, "You want a piece of me?" And he cups his hand and waves me in... Yeah. I belly laughed right out loud and forever lost my authoritative state of Fatherhood right then and there. Red Sox won the game 4-2 and David went to bed at 11pm.

He also repeated a movie line over and over from the movie, Ice Age. What makes this even funnier, is that he learned this movie line wrong.

Loudly, "Forty-Two!" Then hesitantly with his hand held palm up, "What?" And he would even add a dramatic pause between words. Sometimes it would feel like three minutes between the "Forty-Two!" and the "What?" We would crack up every time. But we had no idea where it came from. We watched Ice Age like 42 times in a row and we don't even own it, so you can only imagine how this dominated our lives, waiting for Ice Age to come on TV, just so we could see where the heck he learned this from. We kept missing the part. Finally one night, we are unshaven and huddled in front of the TV and the tiger says, "I say we should go" and then the tiger asks..."what?" It's not even a big part of the movie, but David cracks up and begins his whole night of "Forty-Two!....What?" We were stunned. We scheduled multiple hearing tests, and oddly his hearing is fine. There are no tests we know of to test his sense of humor.

Others?

McDonald's is "Happy Donald's"

Matthew's pacifier is a "Packsifier"

On cool days he wears his "Jackolet"

Cookies are "Poookies"

Potato Chips are "Mommy's Chips"

With his lisp, Sticks are "Dicks" and heaven forbid he finds a big stick in public and wants to show everyone the big stick he's holding in his hands.

It's probably too late and not such a good idea to go wake up Mommy and see what else he says that's way cute. But, as I went in to check on him tonight and to purposely make his Thomas the Train set all crooked, I still smile at his softness, his innocence, and I wonder what kind of boy he is becoming. I'm glad he doesn't have my feet. He's sound asleep in Superman pajamas.



(The paper thin airplane pajamas finally wore through this weekend, and he split the seam of his pajama bottoms. Yeah - hilarious - now he could show the entire world his poopie-butt without even having to take down his bottoms....On a rainy day, I might suggest going into your four-year-old's drawer and finding an old pair of shorts and splitting the crotch on purpose - he'll be entertaining for hours)

Oh wait. I've digressed. I actually sat down tonight to download a picture of Matthew.




Holy Guacamole!

Or as our four year old avocado masher would say, "Ho-wee Gwakamaylee!"

My Every Morning of Every Day Story

I am exhausted.

Have you ever tried to get a four-year-old fed and dressed for school?

Ok David, I'm getting into the shower - eat your breakfast. I want to see that breakfast gone by the time I come out, OK?
Sixteen minutes, ok Dad, is that an idea?
No, not a good idea, I mean, NOW. Eat your breakfast, NOW. I used to think I could be stern and scary before my first cup of coffee. Plus, you should see my hair in the morning. I can't believe he doesn't do what I say out of fear alone.
Cartoons?
Yes, watch cartoons, eat your breakfast, all gone. Breakfast, all gone, I get out of the shower, you hear me? No wonder the past is so worried about the future: all us parents talk in broken-baby-four-year-old English.
Look at my poopie butt, it’s totally cool and awesome.
David!
Ohtay... slumped shoulders. Hey what is this? On his plate is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into squares, a few slices of cheese, a banana and a sprinkling of Cheerios. It’s arranged all stacked and cool-looking. Served with a cup of juice, watered down of course because we were told to do so, but I'm not sure by whom or why we even do this.
Breakfast needs a name. This is a piece I call, "The Pythagorean Theorem of Holiday-who-duh-whattie?"
Tears. Big whiney voice, "I don't like this cheese! Lemme show you! Yesterday, Mommy said I could have this cheese!" And he grabs his stool and opens the freezer and points to the Dibs. Mommy said I could have that. I'm a big boy!
Nobody touches my Dibs. Mommy said What? I sense another story needing to be told.
Not for breakfast. Minutes are ticking by. David, EAT!
More tears.
When I get out of the shower, I want that plate to be empty and your belly full - you hear me?
He caves in and assumes the position to eat, but begins to intently watch The Higgleytown Heroes. They scare me.
Dude! Eat!
My Yam! My Yam! We know this to mean I am, I am, and I get in the shower.
I figure we are 10 minutes behind the eight ball now.

I shower.

I give warning - I'm done - are you done?
Ahlmost!
But wait, his voice is coming from his bedroom. My son is not a ventriloquist.
David? Did you finish your breakfast?
Ahlmost, but I had to find my tractor like on Hillowee-Horos!
Deep breath.

I feed his breakfast to Ruby.

Time to get dressed.
I can do it! Lots of tears. I can do it!
Ok, then let's do it. No playtime, there is a time to play and a time to get dressed. This is the time to get dressed.
Ohhhhtay....shoulders slumped. He gets his pajama bottoms off.
Lookit my pooopie butt, its totally cool and awesome! He dances. He shakes his booty. He’s fast and he’s slippery.
David!
Ohtay...shoulders slumped.
Underwear is on..Okay, Bye, time to go to school! He heads for the front door.
David!
Genuine four-year-old laughter. It really is cute, but it's not the time. Yet we do this every morning, every day, every week. I clench my teeth, but I still laugh. Once, he went all the way to the truck in his Scooby-Doo underwear just to see what I would do. It was much warmer then.
Git over here!
Pants are on. Okay, Bye, time for school!
David!
More genuine four-year-old laughter.
Socks. Stop curling your toes. Give me your foot.
Except he likes it when I say it more like, "Vooot."
Give me your Vooot. He uncurls his toes. This is real fun. One Vooot covered.
Ohtay... Bye, time to---
David!
Shoes and socks are on. Shoulders are slumped.

Picture his room. His room is a mess. It's not as bad as his Uncle Tom's room growing up, thank the Lord, but David's room is not organized and he has toys, cars, legos, animals, puzzles, pens, toilet paper tubes, and hangers he calls Horsies, all over the floor. You can't walk two steps without stepping on something. My sister Lisa would freak.
David screams like he's just been bitten by a snake; its a deep sucking sound that would make you drive off the road, " AAAHHUUUEEEYYY!"
And he runs across the room, where he has four cars of Thomas the Train hooked together. Four cars of Thomas the Train that are, yikes, it's so frightening, he can't stand to bear it; that are crooked.

Crooked. Not in a straight line. One car is not like the rest of them. It takes his breath away. He lines them up all straight. He is meticulous.
There. You can see him physically exhale. Yikes. He proceeds to then trip over the toys, cars, legos, animals, puzzles, pens, and I have to catch him.

I pick out the really cool OP surfer shirt and he says, "no want that" like he's the boss of me and picks out the bright red Spiderman T-shirt with the stretched neck; half the cheesy hot stamp missing and it’s got a fraying hem.

I'm pretty much sweaty by now.

And that was just Monday.....

Today, We all have a new President. A new Hope.

This affects everything.

As a Dad I am not very political. In college, I had a professor who spoke of something he called the "Public Trough." The public goes to this "trough" and "sips" bits of information, and forms an argumentative opinion without "drinking" the entire "trough." Sorry about all the quotation marks. Many opinions are created and fought for, based on the little sips from this public trough, without drinking or, as in, "learning" the entire trough. I hate that.

We hear all the time: Every Vote Counts. Me? I want my vote to be an educated vote, and I believe if I am voting on only a small sip of information, my vote will not count. Sorry about all the italicized text.

Please realize, this is not an invitation to debate political beliefs. I have not drunk enough from the Public Trough.

But being our Inauguration Day, today is an important day as an American, and as a particular Dad; today needs to be recognized. We have a new president. And a new Hope.

My four year old son told me today, that we have a new president. I find that significant all in itself, don't you?

Today I sensed something.

See if this makes sense-- My sister battled through cancer. She has two boys. She is young. She amazes me. My sister faced cancer with Hope and Optimism and Openness. Her boys will grow up and look at disease completely differently than the way we looked at disease.

Today, I sensed my children will grow up and look at America completely differently than the way we looked at America. Something has changed. This amazes me.

As a Dad, right now, I am going to bed as one little Dad, with a little family, in a little house, in a little town; one little spec on this big overwhelming Earth, witnessing a day that included:

Hope.
Optimism.
Joy.
Openness.
Impatience.
And a sense of Community.

Today? Today was a good day. Although I only hesitantly accepted all the MTV type celebrations and Obama being interviewed more as a celebrity than a President, I recognize we have a new generation in Washington. We have a new majority in Washington.

Oh but, check this out, we also have a new majority in our family - Kids outnumber the Adults 3-2. hhhmmm... I never really thought about it like that til now...


I hope this feeling is contagious; It feels good to be Hopeful and Optimistic. Even without drinking everything from the "trough."

Kids want the darndest things for breakfast.

So, This Creepy Dream...

OK. Here's how I feel. If I wrote a book and it was, like, 550 pages long, and every page meant something, and every page was blank, would you get it?

So...this dream.

It started out kinda confusing. There was a bar attached to this hospital, and even though I was way comfortable, and knew where it was, I didn't know anyone there - except they all knew me. Really strange. I was amazingly popular, but had no idea who these people were. And everytime I left this bar, I'd get really really lost inside the hospital. I'd show up to do business in this bar inside the hospital, yet I would not know the person that I was supposed to meet, but he'd know me, and I'd go to the bathroom to collect my thoughts and then get lost going back. This happened twice.

Then it cuts to me walking to the top of a hill. Not a mountain, but a rounded hill, no trees; a bald hill. It is dusk, maybe sunrise - I am not sure actually. The sky is brilliant reds and peaches, but I am not sure if it is sunrise or sunset. It is the in-between, and the sun is not in the sky, but the sky is amazing.

With me is a man and a woman. I do not know either of them. The man has thinning hair and the woman is younger than him, with dark, medium length hair.

I lay down on a cot and they say that they will stay with me.

I closed my eyes and began to believe I was dying.

I became afraid to open my eyes. Yet I could still sense the brilliant reds in the sky from the top of this rounded, bald hill.

Then I got excited. The brilliant reds turned to more of a bright yellow, and I began to believe I was about to meet God. I got more excited, and more excited. No way would I open my eyes. It got brighter and brighter and then I could see the brilliant reds again, and realized I could see myself on this cot. I was above the cot, slightly above the hill, and I could see the man and woman standing there, just standing there like they were waiting for something. Their heads were slightly down, but not like in prayer, just waiting, and standing silently. I don't think they were holding hands, but they were close enough to hold hands if they were meant to.

I felt a rising sensation, and I got more excited about what God would look like. I even wondered if it would even be God that would meet me; or St. Peter or Gabriel, who I could not picture. But I really hoped I was about to see God.




Then it was dark. I must be awake. Eyes closed. Laying horizontal. I believed I was in bed, but I did not want to move. I figured it was a dream I just had, but I did not move. I did not open my eyes. I wanted to reach over and touch Michele, but I was too afraid to move. It was way dark and way silent.

What if?? What if??

As a kid, I heard if you died in a dream, then you were dead. I've had dreams of falling bodies past my bedroom window, but never, ever, did me or anyone else ever die in my dreams.

I kept my eyes closed. I listened and heard nothing. It was like I was inside my head, my brain, searching for anything, anything at all to give me an idea if I was really alive or if I was dead.

What if I really was dead, and was laying in bed next to Michele? What if I really was dead, and I was about to witness Michele's reaction to me being dead next to her? What if I really was dead, and I was about to witness her and David, finding me dead?

I was paralyzed by fear. It was such a strong overwhelming sensation. I wanted to reach over and see if I could feel Michele's side, and I couldn't. I couldn't move. Everything was darkness, a huge darkness I was in. I felt like I was squeezing my eyes closed.

I didn't want to know.

I breathed in and I breathed out. I could hear myself breath. I did not want to be dead. I did not want to be dead. I did not want to be dead. I've prayed for a silent, quiet heart attack in my sleep before, but right then, right now, I did not want to be dead. I did not want to be dead.

I remember grabbing Michele's hip. I could feel it. I remember thinking that must be a good sign, I could feel her. I could feel myself breathing. I could feel Michele's hip. My body felt paralyzed, and it took a real effort to move my legs and my torso, but as awkward as it felt, I moved.

I was alive.

Even with my eyes still closed, I felt the huge darkness turn to more of a midnight blue, a twilight between darkness and morning.

And I laid there.

I laid there for a long time, knowing I could move, knowing I could feel, but I lay motionless and tried to put the pieces of the dream in order.

I was glad I was not dead.

I really was glad to be alive. What a strong, realistic dream.

For the next few days, I was cautious. Should I tell anyone? How do I tell someone? This sounds crazy. It still does. But I can still see it, still feel it.

I am not ready.

I am glad to be alive.

Tonight's Last Osteo Treatment

It's the last antibiotic treatment. It is complete. Matthew will never remember any of this. And yet, this is something we will never forget.

He'll remember nothing - and yet, we'll hold him a little closer because of this.

The last two months affected us emotionally. It affected us financially. It affected our jobs. It affected our time together as a family.

And yet...

We feel blessed.


Blessed?



You should see his little sleeping face. His little chest rising and lowering with each breath. His little arm and big fat fingers all scrunched up.

We feel Thankful. Thankful, happy and relieved with his prognosis.

Thankful. Thankful Nana was here. Imagine? What if Nana was not here?

Thankful. Thankful my Work was understanding and tolerant during even such a trying time for themselves. Thank You Susan and Leslie.

Thankful. Thankful for the prayers and thoughts from all of you and from people we heard about yet never met.

Feels like we just completed a journey.

As a particular Dadman, part of me worries, "What's next?"


And yet, the other part of me just wants to take a deep breath, exhale and go to bed. With a smile on my face.

A Chapter in Being Three

I found an old email that included a couple of stories from a while ago. Made me laugh. It's not so funny how quickly I forget the little, everyday stuff.

David hasn't been feeling well, and Michele took him to the DR yesterday. She called me on the way home, said he's fine. Also said a tooth came out.
He lost a tooth?
Yeah, a tooth came out, but it's to be expected after 2-3 years. Not sure when it came out.
Really? He's only three.
Yeah, they cleaned his ears, and it was in the wax.
The tooth was in his ear?
Yeah, they wiped his ear with a Q-tip and the tooth was in the wax.
The tooth was in his ear?
Yeah, the tooth came out and was in a clump of wax. It wasn't that big. - why? Where else would it go?
Michele, wait - are you telling me, David lost a baby tooth, and it came out of his ear??!!

What? No! One of his tubes came out of his ears!

Oh my.
That's one of the biggest laughs I've had in long time.


Actually, a few weeks ago, David opened the bathroom door while I was showering in the morning, "Dad?"
Yeah?
What the f*ck?
Um, WHAT?!
Daddy? What the f*ck?
I got soap in my eyes, not my ears, and I know what I heard. Where the heck did he learn this??
David, what are you saying?
Imagine his impatience that I cannot understand him. He yells loud enough now that everyone outside waiting for the schoolbus can hear him, "Daddy, What the F*ck??!"
David, I'll be out in minute! Finish your breakfast. I'll be right out!
Daddy?! What the f*ck? F*ck in the *ss??
David!
F*ck in the *ss??!!
He's way loud.
I'm out of the shower now. Wild-eyed. Mortified.
F*ck in the *ss??!
What in the world are you trying to say?? gulp, Show me?
He grabs my finger and walks me out to the backyard.
Where's the frog? Frog in the grass?
He simply was asking where the frog was that we saw last night.

Oh my.

Michele just said supper is all set. David is naked and says he is an elephant....


And we were warned about the terrible twos... they weren't nuthin compared to him being three!

The Christmas Tree Blog

I was thinking tonight I would write this really witty blog and amuse you with all the silly and meaningful things from this weekend. This has been a very busy weekend. Full of stuff to share with you. And then I woke up, to the words, "You gonna be out there all night?" I guess I fell asleep in the adirondack chair on the front patio, and now I'm all crabby and my tongue feels like a big, puffy balloon covered in wet felt. Was I really asleep in the front yard with my mouth open??

Dinner was awesome, and then I slipped out front, admired the newly laid patio, sat under the newly bought tiki torch (kinda cool, glass teardrop shaped tiki torch. And yes, it was on sale, Kat) I cracked open a cold beer and promptly fell asleep. Typical Dadman action. Matthew rolled out front in his walker; two wheels on the patio, two wheels still in the house, precarious angle, ready to fall on his head, but god forbid Michele tears herself away from the Law and Order marathon to save her kid - hence the loud enough to startle me, "You gonna be out there all night?"

I saved her kid, er, my kid now, and strongly (yeah, right) defended myself, which, I'm guessing, sounded more like defensive sarcasm; aka: I never did finish my beer. David needed a bath. Matthew needed a diaper change. The cushions needed to be brought in before it rained. The garage needed closing. And all I needed was to finish my beer in peace. Is all this too trivial? Please understand, when you get woken up from a deep sleep, this is not trivial. This is major stuff. Fighting words. You've heard to: choose your battles. Tonight? This is my battle. Oh yeah, baby, bring it on!

I gave David a bath. I brought in the cushions. I changed Matthew's diaper. I got his medicine going. I even took out the garbage. It's not like I wouldn't have done this anyway - there's just something about being told to do it like you were never going to have done it in the first place - you know?

Gawd I suck at this manly, I am The-Man-of-the-Household stuff.

But yes, today, The Manly-Man-of-the-Household took down the Christmas tree.

Christmas was amazingly special this year. With Josh and Nana here, and with David being four, it really was something special. This year's tree was pretty special too - for some reason, it worked. It looked really nice. Same ornaments, same ribbons, same lights, same angel - but for some reason, this particular tree made it work - made it happen - our tree was stylin'. I hated to take this tree down. Why can't we have a tree up all year and make everyday feel like Christmas? I read my sister's blog and she has this almost romantic view of taking down her tree. Our tree felt pretty special too, like a member of the family. Just look at these angels:

I took the tree down today. Christmas is over. Hear that kids?! Christmas is over. No more toys. No more fun. No more begging.

For a tree that is dry as a bone, isn't it pretty gross how that remaining water in the Christmas tree stand can smell like a science project gone bad? Especially when you spill it on a particular wife's braided rug? Ever smell pond scum? Plus, holy cow, isn't it surprising - how far the needles can shoot themselves when you pull the tree through a narrow door opening? I found needles in Matthew's crib at the other end of the house down the hall. It was like fireworks, and then like a slow motion snow storm. Part of me wanted to pull the tree through the door over and over again, but the other part of me wanted to sleep in the same bed as my wife tonight.

I got the tree outside and proceeded to get myself dizzy unwrapping the Christmas lights. Round and round I went. I stepped in dog poop. F-my sister's romantic Christmas Tree Blog.

Then I dispensed of our special, romantic Christmas Tree as any normal, loving father would do in front of his children...

Insert photo here of The-Man-of-the-Household burning down the neighborhood and Nana frantically trying to find the number to 911:

I wish everyday was like Christmas.

Home Alone Two

So the first day alone in the house with my infant son begins like this..."Here honey, Can you take him? He's real gassy, he feels warm, he won't fall asleep and I am going shopping."

What? The new season of Law and Order hasn't even started yet. You can’t leave.

The door shuts. We sit. It all happened so fast. She’s quick. We are alone and I am completely without a beer. I hear her car start and whatever they call it now, whatever they called disco way back when, I can hear it. She says it's not disco anymore, they call it “Dance Music.” I can hear it really loud coming from her car. Boom-shakalaka-Boomshakalaka. Lots of bass. The window rattles.

I wonder if she's ever coming back.

There is a stillness; a time warp; an eerie freeze-frame where movement stops, but you can still hear one's heart pounding. I was in that vacuum. He is still and he is quiet. It's not a feeling of: "Please don't cry." It’s not a feeling of: “Please don't diarrhea all over me." It’s much deeper, much more to the core of all humanity.

Mommy is GONE.

And sometime in that horrific introspect; sometime in that finite state of oxygen depleted osmosis, he fell asleep. Asleep. His little eyes rolled back into his little forehead and he's asleep. Asleep.

Wait a minute. He's asleep. He’s finally asleep? I am afraid to move.

Some grainy 1980's Danny DeVito movie is on the TV and the remote is one couch cushion out of my ever-lovin reach. I don't dare move. Seriously, she used words like “gassy” and “shopping” in the same sentence. I am not moving. Especially now.

My feet are asleep. They are both all tingly and prickly. I look at the clock - Mom has been gone an eternity of six minutes. Damn her, why isn't she back already?!

I can't reach the Remote.
The Red Sox are on Channel 28.
Danny DeVito is bald and is running in circles while true disco music plays in the background.
I could be mowing the lawn.
I could be putting the changing table together for the third time, this time with glue and duct tape because the instructions are in broken Yatslavian and there is a screw and a dowel missing.

He squirms.
The dog growls.

The prickliness has moved up both legs. Sheesh, this kid sweats a lot. I am paralyzed. I am in a state of prickly horror. I have been sucked into a prickly timeless universe.

I look around. When I got home today, the dishes were washed. The living room was vacuumed. The bathroom was clean. And the rug - that rug the cat threw up on, was already in the laundry. Lunch had been made and a plate set aside for me. There is even a little sticky note with a heart on it for me. Those little hearts make me genuinely smile.

Does this ever happen to you - You are on the cusp of experiencing a very valuable revelation in life that involves clean dishes, cat barf and a gassy infant, and then the phone rings?

Seriously, the phone rings. He’s asleep for the first time in what seems like the span between the Red Sox winning the World Series and since rocks were called pets. We both jumped a good three pillow lengths off the couch. Did somebody turn the volume up? Holy Graham Freakin’ Bell!

I don't really know how I got there, but there I was I was on all fours, phone in hand, drooling child being pressed against what my CCD teacher would call my “Bosom,” and this loud voice on the other end is screaming excitedly, "Hey Bum Bum! I'm only four car lengths from home! I wanted to see how things are going! You doing okay? I'll be home soon! There's a sale at JC Penny! I'm meeting my sister at Wind Tiki for lunch; She has a couple of errands to make and then I'll be home! We are going to the Auburn Mall, the Soloman Mall, the Buckland Mall,” and, I swear she says this, “the HaHaYouMayNeverSeeMyShinyPimplyButtEverAgainMall, Love you!"

"Um, okay,” I mumble. “I love you too. Have fun. Be safe." Bum Bum. I take a deep breath. Oh Dear Lord. My breathing is erratic. My chest is heaving. All I can hear is my pulse.

I ever-so-slowly return to the couch. I am a Sloth.

His little warm head. His nimble little fingers with those tiny little fingernails..His little overlap where the wrist meets the hand… I swear he just whispered something in his sleep…”Daddy, I love you SO much more than Mommy…and the Red Sox are on Channel 28”

Secretly, this Danny DeVito movie seems pretty good. I could probably reach the remote, but now I don’t want to move for a whole new reason. I smile. I look around and I exhale. Big respectful sense of wonder to the power of Motherhood.

Sheesh, I sweat a lot.



10/2004 David was a little over a month old and we had not discovered "Gripewater" yet