Wednesday, October 27, 2010
"I'm just a good running and jumping boy," Jack slaps his knee, stomps a cowboy boot. He clack-clacks up and down the hallway, jumps and stomps, "Running and jumping boy is here," he says and flops onto the couch.
"Jack, shhhh, the baby is nursing," little boy trundles into the kitchen. Daddy flips a pancake and grabs his elbow, "Shhhhh," he says.
"O. K." He tip-tiptoes back on the hardwood, opens both eyes WIDE. "Can I kiss her, Momma?" He pokes her toes, gentle, and strains in loudest whisper, "Can I KISS her?"
I smile, whisper, "When she's done." He tiptoes back to flip pancakes.
Dinner. 14 pancakes, baseball size. Just for me. I love pancakes.
"Thank-you, Momma," Janie says, "Thank-you so much!" I hand her the whip cream, "I just love doing that," she pokes the cream spout, "because it makes me feel older. It's just like pushing on that and the whip cream comes out, makes me feel older." I pass the cinnamon and we shake a puff on top.
Every day, a little older.