Hottie flipped through the channels last night and paused on a singing performance by 4TROOPS on the USS Intrepid. We sat and watched it for a few moments. Little Man paused in his industrious emptying of his diaper bag for the 1,354 time that evening and stood and watched the screen. “Ga!” He squealed. He hurried over to the top drawer of our cabinet, the drawer that contains all of the Xbox and Wii equipment. He can’t see inside the drawer as it’s over his head, but he reached in there and by touch, he pulled out the microphone that we use when we’re playing American Idol on the Wii. He stepped back so he could see the singers clearly. Pressed the microphone against his lips and sang, “Gaaaaa…”


It was a Friday evening and I was excited to get home to my boys. Hottie had worked the early shift so he was already home with Little Man. I turned the corner and saw Little Man in our driveway with Hottie sitting on a lawn chair watching him. I love coming home and seeing them. It’s my favorite part of my day – when we’re all together. I rushed into the house, quickly changed, and joined them outside. Little Man was weeding my front flower pot. Dirt littered the walkway in front of our front door. A dark coating covered the bottoms of my bare feet. Little Man had dirt everywhere. All down his basketball shirt, in between his toes, stuck to his hair, and glued to his sweaty scalp. After his evening bath, the bath tub didn’t thank me.


Blue Eyes and Little Man occupied the back seat of my Honda, two car seats taking up the entire bench seat. I had just spent the weekend with both of them and loved every minute of it. I don’t get to see Blue Eyes as much as I’d like. I’d always envisioned he and Little Man growing up together, almost inseparable, two cousins so close that they’d almost be brothers. It’s hard for me to acknowledge the reality isn’t living up to the dream. The two little boys are both huge talkers. And I’m talking HUGE talkers. Little Man babbles incessantly. Blue Eyes talks and questions nonstop as only a four year old can. So, I’m listening to them in the back seat when I hear the four year old, in complete exasperation, ask the fourteen month old, “Cole, why you talking so much?”


Desi, Little Man’s big sister, spent part of her summer with us. She’s eleven. She dotes on Little Man. Hottie and Desi had gone to a doctor appointment and Little Man was asleep. He woke to find them both gone. His chubby legs swung over the side of the couch until his feet touched the floor. Then he released his hold and dropped to the floor. He ignored me. He may have just woken up, but he had a goal in mind. He toddled down the hallway and turned left. I heard the door to Desi’s room squeak open as he pushed the door wide. “Baby,” I hollered from the living room, “She’s not home.”


Desi and I sat on the side of the tub. “A little bit goes a long way, ” I told her as I put a small amount of shaving cream on her leg. “And when you press down, you don’t have to press very hard. The razor is very sharp, so be careful.” Fifteen minutes later, she came bouncing out. “Feel! They’re so smooth!” She held up her leg, running one hand over the newly smooth surface. So happy, so grown up.

Time flying by.

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