The New Man in Her Life
Riley Kate is in love. I’m not worried, because while the new man in her life does ardently return her affection, he is already attached… And he’s over forty years older than she.
“Mommy, I like you. And Unca Boppy.”
“Time to get up! Let’s go see Unca Boppy!”
“I want to watch JoJo. With Unca Boppy.”
“Look at my [whatever she’s wearing]! Show Unca Boppy!”
Unca Boppy, or Uncle Bobby to the rest of us, lives two and a half hours away, so we can’t accommodate her newfound urgency to see him every day, but she is wearing a hole in the pictures we give her to soothe her sadness. This attachment has grown throughout her two-year life, but has sprung into full blossom due to her spending a great deal of time with Uncle Bobby at Reagan’s baptism.
I’m thinking I could give her tips. I remember my toddler years of pitting Uncle Bobby and Uncle Paul against each other to vie for my affections, so much so that they tended to compete to outdo each other in gifts and time spent with me. However, I was their only niece, a limited commodity. Riley Kate clearly sees the writing on the wall: suck up all of his time and affection before Reagan comes of age, and more urgently, before Mom and Dad have another girl with whom to share his attentions.
Connor is getting ready to begin his two new (and equally dangerous) ventures this spring and summer—according to him, “karate masters and experimenting.” He’s going to begin karate lessons soon (though he already thinks he’s got some good moves all on his own), and he’ll be joining the Montclair University summer program for gifted children, where he’ll be doing—gulp—“Chemistry for Kindergarteners.” Lord, have mercy.
Ror is fully engulfed in the “thrilling three’s”, which is positive-parenting code for sassing his parents 24/7. His new phrase is “so deal,” which is positively appalling. “Well I WANT to stay in the tub, so deal.” It wasn’t until Chris pointed out where he learned the phrase (*hanging my head in shame*) that I began taking note of my own exchanges with him. “You’re not getting a cookie, so deal.” “I already told you it was time for bed ten minutes ago, so deal.” Oops. He’d be totally obnoxious if weren’t for his more redeeming remarks—“Mom, you’re my special cutie.” “Reagan, you’re a little sweetheart.” So, he lives to sass another day.
Reagan. Ah, Reagan. It is impossible to dull the effusiveness of my praise for this kid, made more precious by the fact that Mommy almost killed her—we appreciate her even more now. Sometimes I really have to bite my tongue when the urge strikes me to wax poetic about her charms, for fear that I’ll be duct-taping Chris’s head back together after it explodes due to hearing me tell him for the zillionth time that she is the most perfect baby since the birth of Christ. But really, it didn’t help my rapturous feelings of love that now she even SMELLS holy—last weekend was her baptism, and her head still smells like chrism.
The kids are all grateful that spring has sprung; the playground has been our hangout for the past week. I’ll post some playground pics in the next few days. Meanwhile, check out the baptism pictures, courtesy of my brand-spanking new camera!
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