#86

Yesterday was a regular day.

Isaac and I made waffles. Five minutes out of bed and, when asked who wants to help in the kitchen he shouts "MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" like his pants are on fire and I asked who wants a bucket of water.

Then we had cello practice. Mom was Maestra, since practice with Dad goes something like this:

"Hey, play that one song"
"I don't remember how it starts."
"Me Neither. Wanna read books?"

I applauded their songs, got refreshments, and gave Isaac a time-out when he got mad and tried to commit cellicide by sawing his instrument in half with his bow.

When it was time to go, I collected my hugs and kisses (Isaac on the lips, Jack on the cheek, as always). Jack has just started saying, "I love you too, dad" which is sweet. I walked out of the house wondering when I became "Dad" instead of "Daddy".

Then I went to work. Where I worked. Work used to seem like a break, but now that being at home no longer feels like a cross between bootcamp and chaperoning at Animal House, work is back to being workish.

I had an event that ran late, so I got home after the boys were asleep. I went into the bedroom, where they were both sprawled on their beds like lusty pirates after a long day of pillaging, taking up far more bed-space than they did a year ago, or even six months ago.

I crouched down next to their beds, breathing in the smell of sleepy little-boy breath, and wept.



Back in the bootcamp days...