Friday, August 22, 2008

strange bedfellows

Suffice it to say, my kids spend a great deal of their time at odds, and there are more Bigfoot sightings than there are those of Quinn and Reilly being affectionate with each other. Quinn is quite tender-hearted, and tries to reach out, but Rei's a pistol and pretty much only gets mushy with Mama. So imagine my surprise yesterday when I discovered that they had both crawled in bed with me, and after unwittingly squeezing me out into the cold harsh morning much too early, were left together, as though by choice. I got a little misty.

My sleeping beauties:

All that time sleeping next to each other must have altered their biorhythms or something, because after dinner I noticed Reilly giving Quinn a make-over, to which he was more amenable than I'd have expected. They were laughing and parting his hair on the wrong side, putting in ponytails, and even a sweet little pink bow.

I think maybe we need to cut back on Will & Grace...

Monday, August 4, 2008

dear megan...

...our thoughts and hearts are with you throughout your labour, and I can't wait to give you a congratulatory hug soon. I know you're going to do a wonderful job bringing that sweet girl into the world.

We love you.

These are the candles from your shower.

We've lit them today in your honour.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

yardworking kids

While I am seldom struck with pangs of jealousy over the arrival of other people's newborns, I do frequently lament that my own children have grown up so quickly, and wish I could revisit those sweet baby and toddler years once in a while. Those were the days in which Mama's lap was the answer to virtually everything, while these are the days that find us debating endlessly whether to replace the faulty $200 XBox 360 Quinn got for his birthday. Somehow sitting in my lap hasn't erased this problem from his mind.

As they've become more sophisticated, so have their needs, which is why I found it heartwarming to walk out back and see them helping their dad, in the midday sun, practically singing "Zippity-Doo-Da." I can't help, in these moments, to opine that maybe, just maybe, we've done some things right...

queasy moto

It's like a bad rash that has spread throughout our close-knit circle, and by my calculations, no one has been spared, not even uber-British, pipe-smoking, genteel Adam has escaped the fever. The strain to which I'm referring is known as motorcyclus covetus. Every man I know wants, has recently purchased, or has plans to acquire, a motorcycle. One by one various wives are announcing, "He bought one." We all lower our heads in solemnity and then begin rattling off comforting statistics to offset the collective unease.

Devarshi has one, Shawn has one, both my brothers drive them, and Todd has long wanted one, but I have cleverly kept him neck-deep in medical costs partly as a means to ensure he'll never be able to afford one. So imagine what a sucker punch it was when he came waltzing in this morning from grocery shopping and said, casually, "Oh, I am buying that motorcycle." All I could think, after dropping a bag of watermelon, was, "I don't even know what company your life insurance is through." I know it's macabre, and I know all about the law of attraction, but I just can't help but picture Todd skidding down some freeway, maimed for life or worse. And then of course is there is the unspeakable: The day he wants to take one of my babies on his hog, er, piglet (it's a Super Moto). Seriously, over my dead body. Yes I know I can't raise them in fear, and how important it is to allow them to have enriching life experiences, but I think my heart would explode seeing one of them mount this steed, headed for the open road. I confess I am already conjuring up ways in which I might injure myself that would bury him in debt until he is too old to ride...(please email ideas privately)

The newest Fitzpatrick

The whole issue leaves me torn, for these guys work hard, and gas prices are fucked, and why shouldn't they have a little fun whilst saving the family big bucks? But Jesus, one misstep, and the consequences could be unbearable. While it is sexy to see them all leather-clad, speeding off on their bikes, the other side of that coin is them not coming back at all. Personally, I can't support my kids on my meager skills and incomplete schooling, and most moms are in the same boat. That pretty much leaves us trying to go about our lives, ignoring the knots in our guts, awaiting that rumble at the end the day.

I guess the one upside to this little epidemic is that very shortly (come on re-class!) we will ALL be in this together. We should have a support group, one that meets three nights a week, and tell the dads it's our Spousal Motorcycle-Ownership Acceptance Assimilation Forum. (S.M.O.A.A.F.) Surely they would have no grounds for objection, for we'd only be trying to support them and their newly-expanded man-ness. We shall discuss top secret things such as a virulent strain of motorcycle thefts, chronic slashed tires, and the new, increasingly popular crime of stealing gas. It's not our fault if the guys have made themselves vulnerable to whole new crop of trouble. They should have known what being flung from their bikes would be the least of their worries...