the great pancake playdate

I was stuck; paralyzed mid-crouch, holding Nora in one arm, the diaper bag on one shoulder, with my other arm flung around Spence, trying to figure out how to take his shoes off. The pancake playdate with Frances, Madeline and Anton might have ended here. Frances eyed me and Spence, and I could see the thought bubble: "I want to play with Spencer, but his Papa is short-circuiting before he's even made it through our mud-room. This just might not work."

In the end, we had a great time, aided in no small part by Madeline's and (later, at Brackett park) Summer's willingness to hold their babies and my baby at once while I a) chased after Spencer to change his diaper; b) soothed Spencer after other kids took his tennis racquets, and c) many other dire emergencies. Madeline's chocolate chip pancakes also helped.

Later on, with Nora conked out in the carseat, I pulled up outside our house and scooped Spencer up to get him inside. I was thinking lunch prep, transferring the slumbering babe up to her bed, combating Spence's diaper rash, and a remote concern about preparing for the Temple Israel social justice Shabbat later on that night (Rachel was great, we got a bunch of new volunteers to sign up, and we sang James Taylor's "You've Got A Friend" at the end of the service). But back to the scene at the car. Instead of shimmying down to race up the stairs all by himself, Spencer threw his arms and legs around me and cuddled in tight, and everything froze for a long moment as the cooling wind surrounded us and I heard him repeat what I have told him so many times, "I love you SOOOO much".

My thought bubble: this just might work.