Oh dear, I seem to have lost the habit of blogging. I’ve even slipped so far as to almost lose the ever-present blogging voice that narrates my life in my head, hoping to chance upon some interesting prose. (note: very little interesting prose has been produced by the blogging voice in my head, but it has given me more than one moment where I’ve frozen, staring off into space, paging through my mental dictionary for just the right word to describe the SPLAT of a boy’s backside in the mud puddle I JUST TOLD HIM to walk around…where was I?)
Anyhow, I’ve gotten well and truly out of the habit of blogging, and now I don’t know what to say to y’all.
You know, I think it was a good thing, actually, being without the mighty, mighty internet for the first month of marriage. I’m just now starting to get my bearings in this new life. It feels like I’ve taken a great big jump off the high dive, and the last month has been all rushing water and streaming bubbles and waves of light and sound. I’m just now getting my bearings, orienting to the surface. It’s probably for the best that I wasn’t writing here. God alone knows what I would have had to say.
Ah well. As I catch my breath and figure out how this works again, let me leave you with some random quotes from the boys.
Raphael walked up to me with his toy helicopter, a look of concern furrowing his brow.
“It doesn’t work.”
When it “worked” it made obnoxious noises and declared that it had spotted the suspect. Needless to say, my heart was not broken that it wasn’t working, and I wasn’t terribly motivated to restore it.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that. I’ll take a look at it in a little while.”
A few minutes later I found him in the kitchen, sitting on the floor, hunched over the helicopter. He’d searched out a teeny tiny screwdriver and removed the screws to the battery compartment. After fishing out three little button batteries, he’d gone through the battery drawer. He didn’t find any other button batteries, so he’d selected the closest size he could find, an AAA. He was trying to cram it into the compartment, and it was irritating him. Seeing me, he sighed and handed me the battery.
“Can you cut this off right there?” He marked an invisible line with his finger about one third of the way down the battery.
Interesting solution, but no, I informed him, I couldn’t.
“We’ll have to buy new batteries like these ones.”
I took the helicopter and placed it on the fridge where it would be safe. He shook his head sadly and said,
“Now the animals are doomed.”
Then he turned on his heel and marched away.
Tre lost a tooth a few days after the wedding, then another a few weeks after that. I told him we’d have to save the teeth until he was sleeping in his own room. Right now all three boys are sharing one small room, sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags. It’s wall-to-wall boy in there.
“I don’t think the tooth fairy would be able to…uh…FIND the tooth in that room right now. She might…uh…get lost or wake up your brothers or something.”
“Hmmm. Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Besides, it’s hard enough for the ‘tooth fairy’” – and I swear he made air quotes – “to remember in the best of times.”
Raphael was remembering one of his favorite parts of the wedding,
“I stood up front with you and I did lick Max.” He snickered at the thought and ran off to play. Max rolled his eyes at his brother.
“He can be SO IMMATURE,” he commented.
I looked at Max, whose fly was unzipped, whose upper lip still bore traces of lunch, and shirt wore traces of breakfast AND lunch. Not two minutes before he’d been in trouble for informing Tre that he was “a great big meanie-head.”
“Yes, but isn’t he adorable?” I said. Max squeezed my hand conspiratorially.
“Yeah, I guess he is.” And then he ran off to play.