Oct
1
JB and Riley are on their way to Oregon today for a weekend camping with JB’s family. The menfolk will be deer hunting during the morning and the rest of the time will be spent hanging around camp, so it was a good opportunity for Riley to come along. JB tried to convince me that all four of us should go, but after carefully considering my choices—driving eighty trillion hours for the dubious pleasure of being unwashed and chilly for three days while chasing two kids around, or staying at home and being able to watch all the zombie movies I want from the comfort of my ass-dent on the couch—I said gosh, PASS.
Riley was pretty much losing his mind with anticipation all week long over this trip. When it came time to pack the truck yesterday, he took his helper role quite seriously.
(Please note holstered cap pistol, in case of rogue deer sightings.)
So it’s just me and Dylan this weekend, which I’m kind of looking forward to. It’s rare that I have alone time with either kid, and it’s such a different experience. It’s especially nice to hang out with Dylan right now because I can just take the time to listen to his weird little conversations without fielding nonstop requests from his brother. Plus, with Riley gone we don’t have to ever turn on that annoying-ass Sid the Science Kid. “May I show you how I groove?” NO YOU MAY NOT.
Now, because I haven’t asked this question in a while and I always like hearing your answers: what are you up to this weekend?
Sep
30
Last night Dylan woke me up with his typical grousing sort of complaint and I did my sleepwalk-stumble into his room, re-arranged his blankets, gave him a kiss, and zombie’d my way back to bed. Not 20 minutes later, he woke me up again, this time with an escalating scream of pure fear. I tossed back the covers so I wouldn’t get tangled during my rapid exit (a practiced, fluid movement at this point, I’m sorry to say) and rushed to his side.
“What’s the matter, Pookie?” I asked, wiping tears off his face. He sobbed that there was a bug trying to get him. A butterfly, and it wanted to bite him, and he was scared.
I sighed. Not again. He’d just had this exact nightmare a week or so ago, screaming about a bug biting him and scaring him. Do we really have to add night terrors to our wee-hour issues with small Dylan?
I patted him, smoothed the hair on his head, whispered that there was no bug. He’d been dreaming, that’s all. There’s no bug, I promise, Boo. I crouched next to his little toddler bed, ignoring the creaks and complaints in my knees, and rubbed his hands. I was just about to get up and tiptoe out of the room when he opened his eyes and fixated on the ceiling.
“Dere’s anudder one,” he said, wonderingly.
I looked up to see an enormous black moth flitting around the dimmed lamp high on the wall. As I stared, it performed a bumbling, jerky circle midair, swooping startlingly close to my face, before landing back on the wall, wings outspread.
“Dat’s a scary butterfly,” Dylan said.
“Motherfucker,” I said.
The moth was eventually dispatched to the Great Round File in the sky, Dylan was re-settled, and I was back in my own bed. I couldn’t fall asleep, though. I kept thinking about the lies we tell our kids. Boogeymen in the closets. Promises we can’t keep.
Everything’s going to be okay.
I won’t let anything hurt you.
Mommy and Daddy will keep you safe.
I know: just a moth. But someday it won’t be.
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