Friday, July 29, 2011 at 09:45PM Corolla heading southbound on Broadway.
Quin: I farted.
Me: What do you say?
Quin: Excuse me.
Otto: I farted.
Me: What do you--
Quin: NO, you didn't fart.
Otto: I farted.
Quin: NO! You TOOTED. I fart. You toot.
Otto: I FARTED!
Quin: You toot. When you're almost four like me you can fart.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011 at 10:51PM Quin and Otto splash around the pool, and Quin shrieks the way he does when he gets really excited. Otto isn't smiling or laughing. He's very serious about his time in the water. The only emotion you'll get is if you try and pull him out. I don't. I kick back and relax and marvel that, holy shit, I'm relaxing. The guys are burning the few bites they had for lunch, and are sunscreen glazed from burning in the sun. They only reflect it, their white skin hard to look at on summer's day at 1pm.
I try not to get too upset around the boys. I want them to see me composed. That's one reason why I gave up caffeine, or at least try to every day, is because it winds me too tight. Gets me close to snapping. Today I tried to keep my cool when, slightly caffeinated, I realized I forgot Otto's swim diaper. So we hung out in the locker room for a little while. At first it was me trying to craft extra protection with some underwear and socks, but then eventually asking Otto if he could please tell me when he had to go. He said he would, and I had to go with that. Not exactly court-approved testimony, but this guy has become pretty serious about the potty and its rewards (a marshmallow), and that's a word more bond than a stack of bibles and judges. So we went, and he was spectacular. I can't say there wasn't some urine that passed its way into the kiddie pool, but what is a kiddie pool anyway but urine?
I love that we can be in the sunshine together. I love that it's not dark by the time I get home. Somehow I want them to have the most fun ever. Somehow I want them to learn how to smile even when everything is pulling at those corners. So I sat at the edge of a kiddie pool, sometimes glancing at two women gossiping, and tried to put into some kind of calculable measure that once I was standing around a keg with those ladies. Something just like them and something like me had no idea how much we'd be dedicated to something like those kids splashing around the pool.
I am struck for a moment about how many tattoos moms have these days, and for a moment I think, "Aren't they a little old to be getting tattoos?' and then realized it wasn't long ago that we were all in college and everybody was getting tattoos. I didn't, and was a little jealous that they had something to remind them of their youth, or recklessness. Or maybe that's a burden.
This is important to note, I guess, because with the kids drowning shadows in the shallow water, I want to remember my youth. I examine the boys to see if they are at all scared or worried. If there's anything lurking in the water that might not buoy them to greatness. Greatness is not what you think if you have Presidents and movie stars in mind. This greatness is something like boys in the sun.
It's hard not to get distracted. That's what life seems to be until you stop and wonder what in the hell happened. The tan lady with the fashionable hat and the constant need to adjust her top probably stands naked in front of the mirror and pulls and lifts different parts until they confess where they've gone. That's a moment, like a tattoo, that needs to come with a snapshot of some other time. A time when everything was in place, and looking back you can be certain you enjoyed every moment of it. These boys in the sun, nothing hidden in the bright water against the white concrete, are flowing and glowing and giving me a glimpse.
