Left of the Dial

the lady beats the tiger

It's a lazy Sunday morning. I'm out in the dining room, drinking coffee, while the Golden Weasel and the Brawn eat breakfast, and the Boy makes sure everything is just so: plants waters, silverware put away, the absolute necessities of proper living. 

I pour another cup of coffee and am about to head downstairs when I make a brief stop in what the kids refer to as "Mom's Bedroom" — yes, for the record, it's also where I sleep, but that's just a detail. They know what's what. 

Naturally, the Brawn shadows me, because at age almost 11, he still hasn't come close to growing out of his mother worship yet. (For that matter, neither have any of his older siblings.) As we stand at the foot of the bed, Top Management looks up from her reading, an eyebrow raised in a way that's simultaneously imperious and fetching, with just a soupçon of amusement. 

"Only one of us can be in here," I say, glancing down at the enormous head of tousled yellow hair next to me. "Which one of us do you choose?" 

Top Management and the Brawn both laugh. 

She then smiles and snuggles down into the covers just a tiny bit more. "Me," she says. 

I have achieved Peak Dad

The Brawn is holding a device up to the wall. It beeps rapidly when placed in certain spots. 

"Hey," I say as I pass by. "You found me." 

"What is that?" Max asks, trying hard not to sound annoyed as the objectively annoying sounds emanating from the device. 

"Seriously," the Bean agrees, not trying quite so hard. 

"A stud finder," the Brawn says. 

As I head down to the basement, I turn to see Max realize what I'd said, and the look of horrified amusement as she begins to laugh silently, followed by the Bean saying, "oh my GOD." The sound of Top Management howling from her studio was just icing on the burger.  

It's all downhill from here. 

she knows me so well

So Top Management found out a few of her favorite creators are in town for a thing. Naturally, she got in touch to see if they wanted to recreate a mini-version of their annual SDCC tradition of Kid Lit Drinks Night and naturally they did. Since I'm friendly with two of the people, and a few of the others are comic book peeps, she very kindly asked if I'd like to join them, knowing I would, in fact, not. Still, she made the effort, and it's appreciated. 

We discussed whether she'd take a Lyft home or if I'd come pick her up, and decided it was open-ended; we'd see where the night went. "Maybe," she suggested, "you could come in and hang out for just a bit if you come pick me up?" I laughed and said, sure, maybe. We'd see. 

She pinged me just now: 

So much fun!

So loud.

You'd hate it. 

Samson and Delightful

I walk into Top Management's studio just as she's singing, "Romeo and Juliet..." She stops when she sees me. 

I'm gobsmacked that she'd leave hanging like that. "Well?! What's the next line? Is it 'they never felt this way' or 'Samson and Delilah'?" 

She smiles and hugs me. "They never felt this way, I bet," she croons in my favorite voice in the world. 

I melt, overwhelmed by love. 

Then she sneers, "because they took the easy way out." 

And people think I'm the cynic. 

wiggle room

So it's Saturday night. Which for the past several years has meant the boys go to bed at more or less the regular time, the Golden Weasel sneaks into Top Management's studio for art night — which often means them trying out some new painting technique together...but has occasionally also meant they cuddle up and watch knitting videos or something equally horrific — and whichever of the oldest three are home and I watch...something. Sometimes it's a film (or the first half of one) and sometimes it's the installment of a television show: Arrow or E.R. or something like that. In years past it's been The West Wing or Firefly or The Wire. (No, not really The Wire.) One of our defaults is Law & Order, because it's vital for a young citizen to learn that in the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate but equally important groups: the police, who investigate crime, and the district attorneys, who prosecute the offenders, and these are their stories. [dun dun]

We watch the opening and, as usual, discuss how cold and jaded Lenny's bot mot is, until the theme song starts playing.

As usual, The Rose begins to shimmy to Mike Post's theme. But, unusually, earlier in the day, she'd gotten a flu shot, so she's not laying down on the couch. She's sitting up. Which somehow inhibits her dancing style. 

"I can’t sit down so my wiggles are different," she says. 

I look at her.

"Wiggles are very dependent upon positioning," she explains. 

"If you were ten years younger, that would be a Thicklebit," I point out. 

But she's not ten years younger. 

So it goes here instead.