Little m Long a

I’m not quite sure how to file this little gem.

Parenting fail?  Parenting success?  Oh dear Lord what have I done?  Another reason I should not be fully entrusted with the care and supervision of my children?  Or simply, a proud father moment?

I suppose you could find arguments for all of them.  It warmed my cockles whatever the case.  (And whatever cockles are.)

I mentioned Zia’s Poetry Slam earlier this week.  Well, as per the norm I attended with the raccoons in tow.  Zander and Zella were actually behaving pretty nicely for a change.  We were seated in the school commons area at a table.  Zander to my left and Zella across the table in front of us, her back to us and facing the stage where Zia and her classmates were doing their thing.

They clapped appropriately in the appropriate places and sat quietly in the places where it was appropriate to sit quietly.

About half way through one of the poems Zander leaned toward me and completely out of the blue whispered, “BLUKA!”

I’ll be damned if Zella didn’t immediately turn around and whinny!

BLUKA!!

Maybe it’s the magnitude of deeply significant events.  Could be my complete lack of mental capacity.  Maybe I’m finally manifesting the negative consequences of poor choices at an earlier age.  Or maybe I’m just forgetful.

The raccoons, Zander and Zella, turned four years old yesterday.  Four.  Years.  Old!  Customarily on each childs’ birthday  we recount the day of their birth.  The details surrounding how each child came screaming into the world.  The kids love it, so much so that the stories are often repeated throughout the year.

I should be able to recount the twins’ birth with ease.  A multiple birth after having been through multiple births should stand out.  And yet I have great difficulty doing just that.

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“Dad!  Dad!  There’s a noise!  We heard a noise upstairs!”

The twins, bright eyed and animated as ever came running into the kitchen.  They clutched my legs, trembling.

“What do you think it was?”

(I knew exactly what it was.  I had overloaded the washing machine—again—and as it tried to start it’s spin cycle began to shake pretty strongly.)

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4 + 4 =

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He surprises me.

He’s a happy-go-lucky little boy that lives in the now.  And the now is usually happy.  Except when it’s not.

Fortunately, a return to happy is but a tickle away.  His days are filled with smiles and laughter, intents typically on nothing more than sharing that joy. Read the rest of this entry →