Slice of Life

Liam-isms. Observing Jack drawing a picture: Why Jack,  you’ve outdone yourself!  Waiting for Jack to cross the road and join him on a sidewalk during a family walk: You’d better get over here toot sweet, buddy!

I wonder where these turns of phrase come from, until later in the week I am watching Wreck It Ralph, and hear Ralph telling Vanellope something about crossing the road toot sweet.  Ah. There it is.

My Future Grandchildren.  The kids were discussing their future adult lives with their dad – all the things they will have and do.  Jack says he will have three kids, and name them Jackson, Bomber, and Pretty Unicorn.  Liam says he will name his future kid after me.  I could see that.  Of all my boys, I could see Liam doing that.  It’s a kind of distant way of showing closeness, if that makes any sense at all.  Jack wouldn’t name a kid after me – he’ll just call me all the time.  Liam will travel the world, far and wide, contacting us when he gets a minute here or there.  But if he has a daughter he’ll name her after me just as a little way to keep me close.

Eh, maybe not.  I just like to think about it, sometimes.  Who they are becoming.

A Lovely Chat.  I get home from work today at a bit after six, as usual.  When I walk in, the husband hands me the baby and heads right out to mow the lawn before the light is gone.  (Yes, the lawn needs mowed.  Also, the husband – primary caregiver in the summertime – needs a few minutes outside.)  I have a quick meal to make from scratch, with a baby in one arm and the older boys circling me, talking all at once.  Jack asks: “Hey.  So you wanna sit on the porch with a cold drink and, like, chat about our day?”  (He’s peppering his speech with “like” a lot these days, and I wonder where he gets it.)  I almost say no, but then I think HOLD UP THIS IS WHERE LIFE HAPPENS, YO, and so I say yes.  Let me just make this super fast and get it in the oven, and then we’ll all sit on the porch with our cold drinks.

While I make some black bean enchiladas (a diversion from my original plan of turkey cutlets in tomato cream sauce, a slightly more involved dish), the boys gather some camp chairs, pour themselves drinks, pull some “appetizers” out of the pantry (Triscuits and Tostitos), and go sit on the porch and wait for me to join them.  I throw together the quickest darn enchiladas you ever did eat, then throw them in the oven and go sit, Craig in my lap.  We enjoy our cold drinks and “tasty snacks.”  We talk about our day, the sound of the lawnmower in the background.  I am glad.

After bathing the baby, the Professor takes the bigger boys to the shower.  I carry the sweet smelling Littlest out onto the front porch, porch ceiling fans whirring.  I rock him a rocking chair, nursing, and watch the sunset as he falls asleep in my arms.