Nip Sighting Tempered by Children

So I walked past this lady and saw her boob. It was only mildly titillating, and only because I was so happy I wasn't her. She was carrying both of her children, one a kindergartner in Quin's school, and the other looked to be the little sibling. They both screamed and cried, the little one pulling at her mom's t-shirt, whose arms were restrained from stopping her nipple from peering out. I quietly thanked her for the show, but again, more so to make me feel better about my own morning. For a moment I thought about her naked breast, and how that would have been headline news in college. Now, though, her sexuality had been thrown asunder by the very product of it. Jesus, I thought to myself, I'm so happy Otto isn't crying.

Cut to this morning. I didn't sleep well. I have this deal where if I wake up, I can't go back to sleep, and that's not good when you have a cat who wants out every morning at 4am. I don't know why, but that's her outside time, and she's got a meow that will make you hate animals. So I was awake and couldn't go back to sleep because I can't juggle. I don't know where that came from, but my early morning brain is cruel, and it delivered unto me a picture of me as an old man with no motor control because I never learned to juggle. So I lay there thinking about how I need to learn to throw balls in the air, and that lent itself to a bigger concern of my not being in shape at all. There would be no going back to sleep.

The morning would start with laughter and cheer.Let me skip a lot of detail here. The part about Quin and his quarterly insanity. The first time it happened I was totally caught off guard. Our little rule-following preschooler blew the f up. I was totally unprepared. No one could be prepared. It was like the 9-11 of our household. Luckily no one died. I mean really, truly lucky. It was a fall day not unlike this one when, as we were headed out of the house, Quin asked me if mom had given him a hug and a kiss before she left. Of course she did, I said, as she would never leave her boys without ten minutes of cruiseship-style goodbyes. Well, Quin didn't believe it, and what started as a sniffle and a tear, turned into tiny terrorist flying into our family structure. Quin lost his shit. I mean an oh-my-god-someone-please-taser-my-child shit losing that eventually found me chasing our then-four year old across a public school's front lawn. I was that guy who was going to be demonized on the news as a school full of large-hearted middle aged teacher ladies watched a disheveled man with bloodshoot eyes leave one kid under a tree to tackle another trying to get away.

It was crazy. And when I finally got the moistened bundle of trembling humanity to his teacher, she asked if everything was OK in that "should I call social services" way. That evening, there was a long conversation about pronouncing every hug and kiss with loud verbal statements of the said hugs and kisses.

The madman would return again this morning, and I thought about calling social services myself.

It always starts to small. A raindrop to the flood. Otto didn't want a cereal bar, so he started crying. And then, Quin, who'd already enjoyed half of his cereal bar, insisted he didn't want his either. Well his fit quickly eclipsed his little brothers, leaving Otto to stare wide-eyed from tear-stained cheeks at Quin ripping away restraints like Elliot in ET and shrieking that I needed to turn around and get some apple sauce.

We were late already, and with four hours of sleep all I wanted to do was find some place else to put this wailing child (argument 8636492882 as to why teachers should be paid millions). We got to the school and Quin refused to get out of the car. Not in a cute obstinate child sort of way, but in the kind of way you'd stumble across a badger in a cave. And I remembered the winking teat and the woman and her kids and how she looked like she'd been dressed by blind assailants.

Today, that would be me. No boob show for anyone, just well, ok, a boob, in flip-flops carrying two children, one shrieking, "Dad, stop! Stop! I need to talk to you about apple sauce!" I seemed to garner some sympathy from some of the passing mothers. Or maybe that was for the kids.

"Can I interest you in a fine brandy?" When one is nuts, the other seems to thrive.I got to the kindergarten herding area right as the bell rang. Quin straightened up, high-fived me and ran into his class. The last I saw of the person who but five minutes prior had been shrieking, "Get some apple sauce!" and making me want to do my own vasectomy was now floating off to Neverland. By then Otto was calm and an easy drop off. I called Sarah and shared with her my morning. She made sweet cooing noises at the plight of her son, and I reminded her he was going crazy over apple sauce, APPLE SAUCE! She laughed as I implored her to huddle with me about what deep trigger might have been set off by apple sauce.

I have no idea what it means for our future or his, but I was completely over the juggling thing.

Fricken Fireworks and Birthdays

I got back from the park with Paco and Sarah told me Otto was able to see the end of the fireworks. It's Labor Day weekend, the new 4th of July, as July was so hot and dry no one could do fireworks, so now all of the metro area municipalities are making sure they get to blow up some hard-to-come-by tax revenues. I put it so cynically because, well, it's what I believe. We'd stab ourselves in the face if someone said it was tradition. But the kids are pretty excited about fireworks (so what...they'd be giddy if the Mayor of Englewood gave everybody free pudding, but that's not sound fiscal policy). And last night, after suffering a very long day with a hangover and the crispy reminders of some poor decision making regarding a friend's American Spirit cigarettes, we drove home from the cheap movie theater with the Cherry Creek neighborhood lighting up the sky with their Independence Day redo. Every firework was a huge "yahhhhhh!" from the boys who shouted like soldiers at a strip club while I did my best to stay on the road.

Tonight Otto was still up because he naps like a soldier after a romp at a strip club. I mean I really envy the guy; splays out crucified to the bed. A man to worship for sure. Quin didn't nap, and was insane by bedtime, alternately lashing out at his brother and laughing uncontrollably at his own farts. We finally got him horizontal, and now he's now somewhere between here and "that place with sand and dinosaurs," where earlier today he said he wanted to go.

Getting on his nap face.We heard the fireworks just as we were getting the kids down. I looked wide-eyed at Sarah as if to say, "Are you f-ing kidding?" Parents don't need anymore challenges in getting their kids to sleep on a school night, and suddenly the city of Lakewood was hammering the sky with Chinese thunder. After ten minutes, and finding we could see the neighboring city's celebration quite clearly down our street, Sarah collected Otto, who was awake and twirling a blanket in the bored, unenthusiastic way cool girls in 80s movies chewed gum. He needed some alone time anyway. I'll explain the reason with one line excerpted from an earlier conversation. Here, Quin responds to his angry father's interrogation: "I did not HIT him...I threw a rock at him!"

To heck with irony: Quin clobbers one of his personal heroes.Otto got some extra love with his mom, while I took our dog for his 3000th consecutive trip to the park (you might think I'm kidding, but multiply 6 years X 365 days X an average 1.5 visits per day.) When I got back what I really wanted to know was if Sarah had a chance to apologize to the neighbors.

They wouldn't be expecting an apology, but they should get one, I think. They just moved in, and they're a young and childless and still full of hope, yet every ten minutes are assaulted by screaming children, shouting parents and/or a bad rendition of happy birthday. There have been a lot of birthday parties in the neighborhood. Plus, Otto's so inspired he's been making "cakes" in the backyard and having us go through the machinations of a party, starting with singing and ending with licking the frosting off imaginary candles.

One of Otto's cake creations.Turns out the neighbors did come out to see the fireworks, but Sarah said the conversation didn't lend itself to an apology (or asking them for money for all the birth control we offer.) Although she totally felt like she should have. Which is why we're married, we need each other to protect our bleeding hearts from the steel wool of the world. Or at least whatever's left over from the boys.

Happy 5 Quin. Photo Courtesy Craig F'n Walker of the Denver F'n Post.