Our Life the Musical the Musical the Yelled Word Version: the Series.

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich of a three-year old

Age 5

Are you excited about a shot?

Yeah.
he said.
A needle prick? Yeah, I want a hundred of them!

Can I get one?
his younger brother asked.

No.
the Elder replied.
You’re not old enough yet. I’m going to get a bunch of shots and then I’ll get a band-aid.

FYI, Manuel is a cat.

Can we go to Petco and let Manuel pick out anything he wants, like a hamster?
the 12-year old asked.

And…what would Manuel do with a hamster?
I asked suspiciously.

He grinned Cheshire.

Ages 12 and 15

Can we watch HSMTMTS?…
they asked with giant grins in a twin-chorus.

Okay, I said, let me see if I got this. HSMTMTS stands for ‘High School Musical the Musical-’

-’The Series!’
they chimed in harmony,
’Can we watch High School Musical the Musical the Series’ now?! There’s a new episode out!

I love shared enthusiasm and excitement. Especially shared between 12- and 15-year olds right now.

Organizing

Who…?!?…
I thundered, made a huge mess in the living room, and then left it!

A two-year old came roaring in:
Oh, that was me,
he announced confidently.
I was organizing the living room for you because you said it was dirty.

I looked around, at the shoes that were lined up, toe to heel to toe in a single line. I looked at the toys and parts and magazines and art supplies and books and orphan socks and clothing accessories that were piled in this pile,

and I suddenly realized they were piled with both purpose and love; piled from the corners and edges and couch hideouts all around,

and he had heard me a short time before getting frustrated about people not picking up,

so he took the initiative.

He helped.
He helped to the best of his ability,

and in my thundering first reaction, I totally missed it.

I’m trying to not miss these things so much.

I am a work in process too. A big pile of complicated stuff that’s sometimes organized and sometimes not. But always there is love.

The living room organization strategy of a two-year old boy

At or around 11.46am

He read The Jungle Book aloud to his younger brothers. There was only the rustling of pages as he read through and their little blond heads bobbed along, eyes shifting across images from page to page, soaking in the animated warmth of their big bro’s storytelling interpretation. I smiled, and kept smiling.

The Secret Lives of Beasts of the Wild Who Live in Domesticated Housing

He carefully unfolded the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had lovingly created, set the topmost portion aside, and dipped his head down to lick the jam off the remaining slice. I watched, as one might might watch a Sir David Attenborough-narrated nature documentary, except this was my youngest son, who is a human.

After lunch, he retired to the back yard to sit on an old log and watch the clouds while he ate an apple he most likely rescued from the ground. His dirty, filthy feet curled up around him, and I suggested to myself he ought to have some sort of bathing experience soon this month. But then I reminded myself that we would probably be swimming in a river soon enough, and all would be clean again, minus conditioner and shampoo.

Two-year old eating the top of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich

Sometime

I measured our mounted microwave to see about a replacement. I did measure it, I did. The microwave has not been working for a couple years, and I’ve dabbled at ideas for fixing it, and further dabbled with ways to replace it. But it will require some work, and some monetary funds. Like I said, it’s been a few years, so it doesn’t seem like an imminently important thing. Today seemed like a good day to measure it though. Now I can set the measurements aside for a while. Maybe a long while.

On the wonderful sitcom The Middle, there’s an ongoing piece about them storing old quilts in their oven. It’s given me something to consider.

Waiting

He waited for her with his shirt pulled up to under his chin. This is a fairly new thing: pulling his shirts up and burying his face. It’s not my favorite new thing. But it seemed less important in the moment, as his tidal wave of enthusiasm at seeing his mom return home carried us along on a crest of infectious joy.

Because

I’m going to get a selfie with you.
I announced.

Why?
she said.

Because,
I said.
Because I haven’t taken one with you in a while, and someday we’ll be both be glad.

Secret news flash: I’m already glad.

And then

And suddenly, the day ground to a close. When I say ‘suddenly,’ I mean ‘slowly.’ Not so much a gigantic crash as a giant, shuddering, brakes starting to engage but taking a while to slow things down sort of close. That’s the kind of day-close you do when you’re a circus symphony.