"Son, it doesn't get any better than this". He looked up at me and nodded stoically, and we both knew it was true. I would have tousled his hair or slapped him five, but I was busy manicuring Spencer's nails. This would be, in fact, the high point of our day.
I may be the only parent prevented from leaving daycare until I clipped my son's finger nails. One of many interesting experiences through which our legend has grown. But today, nobody was forcing me to soak a new toothbrush in hot soapy water, scrub the Boy's filthy nails until they shone, and then clip them to a proper length.
Before the end of the night, those same little fingers would be smushed by a falling window (cries of "Ayude me! Ayude me!" brought me rushing in to find him, quite upset); just as earlier they had plucked my glasses off my face... and tossed several plates and cups of food and beverage to the floor. Yes, it was one of those days when I'm glad I can't read the thought bubbles over my son's head. They might read:
PAPA! WHY couldn't you have packed the diaper bag LAST NIGHT? I am BORED!
PAPA! Just be glad I am not chucking this bowl of cereal at you!
PAPA! Here's another idea. Leave Baby Nora here by the side of the road and if she follows us home, THEN she gets a cube of frozen organic sweet potatoes?
PAPA! I didn't promise not to throw my tennis ball in the car. You were projecting!
PAPA! Do you know how few foods *you* would eat before college? Be reasonable!
And so forth. The glaringly not-perfect childhoods of Spencer and Nora march on through another Monday. Next time, we're going to work on making it just a bit better than this.
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