Left of the Dial

teamwork

The two boys are watching Dora the Explorer as I'm doing the dishes, the younger one enthusiastically, the older one considerably less so; he's not a huge fan of La Exploradora, for reasons I've never understood, possibly because they're utterly inexplicable. 

I hear Dora instruct her faithful viewer to call Map and, instinctively, I yell "map!" as I always do and have ever since our oldest started watching television. We hoped, as did the makers of the programs, that it would encourage the kids to be more actively involved, rather than simply passive viewers. It never worked, no matter how many times or how loudly I tried. 

(The show did, however, lead to one of our family's favorite sayings, thanks to a then-young daughter who couldn't pronounce the villainous Swiper's name correctly: "Fiper no fiping!") 

Except I'm dimly aware I can hear The Brawn join me in yelling "map! Map!" from the other room as I start scrubbing the pasta pot. 

A moment later, I realize he's now yelling, "Dad! Dad!" 

I turn off the water. "What is it, buddy?" 

"It worked," he politely informs me. "We got Map to come." 

I have never felt so powerful. 

perception is 110% of the law

The 16-year-old, attempting to prove to the Golden Weasel that as her older sister she does, in fact, know all there is to know, confidently states the prime interest rate at the close of business (on a Sunday): "C^2."  

The final exchange rate for the yen against the euro at market close? "Cumulus." 

The Golden Weasel looks suitably impressed. The Rose looks at me to see if I'm as proud of her as she deems I should be.

I'm not. I'm twice as proud. Or, as she might put it, "Schrödinger equation."

the sound of a preposition

We've got those word magnets on our fridge. We have at least the basic starter kit and the Shakespeare expansion pack and maybe another. We've had them for nearly as long as we've had kids, or maybe even longer? We go through phases as a family where we'll be more active and then through dormant periods, and even some dark times where the fridge has been free of "besmirch" and "verily" for a few months, until the kids find them and dig them out again. We've gotten some great sentences and phrases over the years and more than a few that made no sense but amused the heck out of the younger contingent.

So I'm opening the fridge today and I knock one onto the floor. The Golden Weasel says, without looking up from the kitchen table where she's been drawing, "what word was that?" 

"Um..." I say, bending down and picking it up. "To. Tee Oh." 

"Mm," she murmurs, nodding, still not looking up. "That's what I thought. It sounded like that." 

the not quite yet last time

There is nothing quite like the feel of one of your kids falling asleep on you. The way they get heavier and heavier, the way their head slowly sinks further and further into a position you just know can't possibly be comfortable, the way their little body—normally stuffed full of so much energy they can't be still for a moment—grows more and more still, all tension leaving, until finally all that's left are those one or two full body muscle twitches that tell you your mission has been almost fully accomplished. 

A few days ago I read something about how every person on earth, at some point, their parents put 'em down and never picked 'em up again. It happens to all of us—at some point, we simply get too big to be picked up by our parents. But rarely if ever does either parent or child know it—no one goes, "right, that's the last time I'll be picking up little Bobby then." The kid doesn't think, "well, that was a good long run; I guess I'm walking to bed from here on out for the rest of my life." It just...happens. 

(Naturally, the moment I read that, I went and picked up every one of my children living at home, even the almost 17-year-old, who went along with it patiently, but who looked at me as though I'd lost my mind. Which means: yeah, you, up there—I know you're reading this, Max, and you know what's happening the next time you come home.)

Top Management and I went and met one of her best friends from college and his husband for drinks last night, and I mentioned this little revelation, and it hit both of them as hard as it had hit us. Unfortunately, shortly therefore, I found out that the husband had lost both his parents a few years earlier, making it that much more poignant. I mean, it's not likely my dad's going to pick me up any time soon, even if he weren't 3000 miles away...but, you know, at least in theory it's possible. 

So tonight I had some work I hadn't finished and I was tempted to get it done after the boys were in bed and before Top Management finished her evening shift. But instead I put on a Springsteen concert DVD and turned off the lights and had The Golden Weasel cuddle up on top of me on the couch while she's still (just barely) small enough to fit. And as I felt her going, I thought, that last time may be approaching...but, at least for now, it's not here quite yet.