...Still talking about our children 10/29/09

We've just been grinding away; work all day and then play until the kids are down and that's when we sit and think about doing something until we fall asleep thirty minutes later.  Often I'll wake up with my arm reaching towards Sarah.  It's like one last, dramatic attempt at passion.  But sleep is soooo good.  And to think I could have done so much more of it in college.

We're good.  Otto is hilarious, smiling and drooling and getting fat.  Q is talking and being cute.  And I can't stand that piece of shit "Sid the Science Kid" on PBS.  I think I'd beat him if he were real.

And I had no idea how emotional Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends are.  They're a bunch of bipolar steam engines gossiping and snipping at each other.  It's really kind of a shock, or it was before I'd seen our one DVD 45 times.

Other than bending us to his will for fun, Quin's been pushing around one of our bar stools and using it to get places he couldn’t before.  He’s like a little old man with a wooden walker.  The stool is taller than him so often all you can see is the seat moving around the house.  But the scary part is the little person attached to it.  He’s eating everything these days and with his stool can get at the food we once hoarded for ourselves.  There’s nothing quite so chilling as putting a PB & J together only to hear the scraping of the stool coming up behind you.  You’ve only got so much time to get it down before you have to share it with the doe-eyed boy who asks, “Have some, please?”  There’s nothing you can do but hand it over.

The other night Sarah was pulled away from the dinner table by a hungry Otto.  Later she pieced together a plate of some leftovers.  As she scraped the saucy ravioli out of the Tuppeware, from the living room I saw the black top of the wooden stool glide towards her.   She was visibly shaken.