Someone Else is Living Your Parisian Dream

“Mama, did I cry when I was a baby?”

“No, honey. Not much at all.”

“Why not?”

“You had nothing to cry about. I was always holding you. Always. And you always had me to yourself.”

“Why did I always have you to myself?”

“Because I didn’t work very much. and we were always together.”

“Why didn’t you work very much?”

“So that we could be together and have fun. And so that I can take care of you and play with you guys without being too tired.

“I like it that we’re always together.”

And he let’s out a little sigh and hugs my leg. Then let’s go, only to return, with his doudou in hand, reattaching himself to my leg as I finish cooking.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Our bedtime routine is intentionally long. Several books (one which we’ve read so many times, they know the words by heart), followed by lights out, then some singing and chatting about our day in the dark; Leo, Max and I in Max’s bottom bunk.  ”I wanna sleep on your belly,” Leo orders, already climbing on top of me.  He proceeds to swing his nose back and forth in the airspace right above mine, asking for a ‘mosquito’ kiss, his own version of an ‘eskimo kiss’.   And then he snuggles in, arms around my neck, legs wrapped around me, and head planted right in the crook of my neck. That little guy is the best snuggler, ever.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Crying, screaming, shouting, piercing my ears, as well as the neighbors’ downstairs.  Hysteria, hurt, betrayal, the injustice!  ”Two,” I think! “We should’ve bought TWO of that! Shit, shit, shit!”

Someone’s stolen someone else’s toy and has taken off. I’m in the kitchen, probably with a very, very sharp Japanese knife in hand, or handling something hot.  Put down the knife! Wait! Make sure I push it in because these guys are tall and love to reach.   Wait.  Push everything further in, because if they pull the towel, it’ll all come crashing down. I read the child safety guides.

Suddenly, the running stops, and I hear, “Calin.” Hug.  And look over. The madness is over, and they’re just standing there, holding each other.  This happens all the time.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“I love you cute stuff.”

“I love you cute stuff.”

“No, I love YOU stuff.”

“No. I love YOU, Mama Cute Stuff.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Mama, today, I was playing with Erine, and Pierre was bothering her.”

“And did you do something?”

“Yeah. I told him to stop bothering her.”

“And did he stop?”

“No.”

“And did you do something?”

I expected him to say that he pushed him, which happens.  He’s proven himself to be a defender of himself and others (very much including Leo), and we don’t discourage this, if a warning has been given.

“Yeah. I lasered him with my laser.”

He holds out one stiff, impressively strong, Third Reich’ish arm and proceeds to hit the laser button that would be on his shoulder. If he was Buzz Lightyear.

I hold back a big laugh and ask, “And what happened?”

“It worked. He ran away.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Max and I are at Leo’s daycare when a little boy rides a little bike into Max’s legs. Caught off balance, Max falls, but doesn’t do anything; he’s been taught not to hit people smaller than him.  The boy rides into him again, and at this point, I tell Max that he can grab the kid.  But Leo takes over from there, running after the little boy. The kid corners himself, and Leo bonks him on top of the head comically with his fist, twice.  He didn’t hurt the kid, but I’m proud of him for coming to his big brother’s defense.