The babies just left for their first day of summer school. They’ll be in the "Monkey Room" now, with different niños, new teachers and toys. We’ve been prepping them for it this weekend, setting expectations, you know, by singing "No More Monkeys Jumping On The Bed," as we jumped on the bed.
Lucas looks like he just had a one night stand with the J.Crew catalog. He’s all prepped out in navy and white, with a sister to match. Her hair is half up, in pigtails, a navy and white eyelet dress, folded white lace socks, navy mary janes.
Before they scooted off, I sat them down in the living room and proceeded to play ventriloquist with a cheerleader puppet I’ve named Penelope, who had them repeat a monkey cheer. "Give me an M!" But then a puppet with a mustache barged in–Fireman Fred, obviously–who needed to tell them to be safe, and to remember, "Crack is whack, don’t pee on teacher’s leg and tell her it’s raining, look both ways before you swipe someone else’s troll doll, and… stop, drop, and roll." Miss Abigail was far more interested in Penelope’s pompoms (not a euphemism). Lucas just wanted to bang on Fireman Fred’s hard hat (still not a euphemism).
As we said our morning good-byes, I told them I’d be there to pick them up later. Hugs, compliments, and monkey kisses, out the door into the garage. Then Abigail doubled back. "More kisses, Mama." So I gave her another kiss. Then she flashed me a toothy grin and said, "Another." I crouched to meet her eye-level, smiled, then planted one on her. "Thanks, Mama." Then my Little Miss grabbed her lunch bag and toddled off to school with her big brother. It’s moments like those I hope to always remember.
Now Phil and I are off to Dr. Natale’s office, to hear his opinion on what the next course of action is with regard to Phil’s heart. Perhaps he’ll advise Phil be on a regular schedule of fur trapping (finally, a euphemism).
A YEAR AGO: Divorced, Engaged, and Pregnant