(enjoying special drinks in Kerrytown Saturday morning...)I had so much fun writing about text messages that I just can't stop. Here are a few more, generated in the last few days.
These first two messages came from Stefan:
Daddy: Just get in the car.
Jameson: Is that any way to ask your son?
Oh my, this message says so much in so few words. Even sitting in my office at would I could imagine the circumstances.
First, I can just understand how Stefan got to the point of frustration leading him to say "just get in the car". I get to that point nearly every time I try to get him out the door, especially in these days of layers and boots and hats and mittens. Alex, by comparison, can be out the door and in the car approximately 25 seconds (assuming he actually wants to go). With Jameson, that can stretch to 25 minutes. (Jameson, go get some socks... pause a few moments... Jameson, why are you bringing down all your bedding, I said socks... pause a few moments... Jameson, you actually need boots in this snow, not shoes... Jameson, please stop waving your coat around the living room, we need to put it on... Jameson, put your pants back on...)
Second, there's Jameson's response. I can see every fiber of his three year old body, rising up in his natural instincts to push buttons, press limits and just figure out this crazy world, as he throws an answer back to Stefan. (and mimic the words he must have heard a million times... is that any way to talk to your brother/father/mother/friend?).
Oh, Jameson. Together, we'll conquer this "threeness" and move on to four. Someday.
Daddy, you come downstairs and clean your room while I play with my toys.
As Stefan texted these words of Jameson's, I couldn't be more proud. Our son, directing his father to clean the basement? Maybe four is closer than I thought.
I hope someday they remember that they used each others bottoms as pillows in the bath.
When both boys are in the bath at one time, with Alex's long, thin legs and Jameson's shorter, more-likely-to-kick legs, I tend to hear about it. Rather loudly. MOOOOMMMM... Jameson is kicking me... A-YIX STOP IT... MINE TURN IN DA FRONT... Jameson, stop pouring water on my head.
As a result, I chose the path of least resistance and bathe them separately. But on this particular night, time was short and I was trying to do several things at once. I reluctantly put them in the bath together and braced for the regular sequence of complaints and objections. And I did hear it for a few minutes, as I was busy putting away laundry and preparing for the next day.
And then... silence.
That dreaded silence that usually points to something being very wrong. I rush in to the bathroom, and instead of distress, I found two very happy boys. Jameson was laying on his belly, propped up on his elbows, and was playing with a toy. Alex was laying on his back, with his head resting on Jameson's cute little bottom. Jameson's legs acted as arm rests for Alex's make-shift recliner.
Bathtime bliss had arrived (for a few moments).
And as happy as they were, it didn't compare to the bliss I experienced. I love, love, love that they are so comfortable with each other. Even if they forget this particular night, I hope that they recall their casual brotherly affection for each other. I hope someday, even if they live across the country from each other, that they remember how intertwined their lives--and sometimes their bodies--were when they were young.
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