Shout out to the man

Today is my Dad's birthday.

He was 19 when I was born, so in many ways, we were kids together. He's taught me more things than i can possibly describe here, but I'll put forward a few:
- How to loaf around and then feel bad that I didn't use my time more productively.
-How to get distracted by any tiny little lint on the carpet, or any piece of reading material in the bathroom.
- How to be funny, make jokes, and use laughter to bring people together.
- How to use words and self depreciating humor to expose the bullying behavior of bullies without getting beat up (much).
- How to try to fix things before you throw them away.
- How to accept people for who they are and not get shocked when they do the same things over and over again.
- How to give people the benefit of the doubt even when you have to give them the benefit of the doubt over and over and over again.
- How to appreciate the satisfaction that comes from building something or finishing a big job, or hanging out with a small group of close friends.
- How to be loyal, accommodating, and respectful.
- How to walk away or say goodbye when you've had enough of others who might not know how to be loyal, accommodating, and respectful.
- To appreciate music, art AND science
– To appreciate a good political debate but then get aggravated if it goes on for too long.
– How to stand up in front of a room full or a church full or an auditorium full of people and captivate the crowd; or to act like a fool trying.
- How to speak my mind, without abandoning the premise that others have a point to make as well.
- How to look out for the little guy.
- How to strive for success without stealing, or cheating, or swindling others.
– How to speak from your heart.
– How to oscillate (sometimes erratically) between extreme generosity and extreme stubbornness.
– How to be too hard on yourself.
- How to give really GREAT hugs.

Also from him, I got my holiday/special-event gift-giving deficits. I have difficulty figuring out what to get the man, and the few gift ideas I had, have not yet come to fruition at this late hour. In our respective homes, my dad and I each have a drawer full of cards that we purchased with good intentions for specific people and celebrations, that never got written out or sent (this drives our wives crazy.)

Chip-Block.
Apple-Tree.
I couldn't be luckier.
Happy birthday, sweet papa.
'Tis a day to celebrate indeed!!!

Powering up

Today, I woke up draped in Ruggies. There are only two of them, but somehow it felt like I was sleeping with a litter of puppies.  They were not just near me, but on me- covering me.  Their weight and breath was everywhere- all satisfying comfort and reassurance; like a heavy sweatshirt and a haze of sweet smelling sugar cookies in the oven.

Jake fell out of bed at about 1am and the only reaction I had to the sound of his noggin slamming into the hard wood floor was to JUMP UP, run in there, lift him into my arms, and tuck him in between katy and me.  He was there for the night because we all fell asleep swift and hard after that.  Then at some point in the pre-dawn, big moonlit morning, Milo came tottering in.  I turned onto my side, reached down and scooped at him with my drowsy arms.  He burrowed into the cavern between my chin, ribcage, and knees.

I woke up facing that same general direction, but he had turned over.  Mouth-breathing into my nostils, Milo's legs were draped across my abdomen.  I was all gumby'd up: Milo was on my front, but Jake was (impossibly) laying across my upper back. 

"How are we laying like this? One on the front of me, one on my back?" was the first conscious thought of my day.  I attempted to roll again, slightly, but instead forced myself to freeze: to appreciate these clinging, loving, needy (but quickly growing independent) mammels.

Milo all breathy on my face.  So soft, so curly and wispy in his solidness.  He's as sensitive and trusting as can be despite his "tough-guy" persona.

"You are my favorite." I caught myself thinking as I stared at him.  The thought surprised me, but not really; the way soda bubbles up the back of your throat after that first sip...every time. I think maybe I think this about each of them, every time I watch them sleep. Not "you are my favorite (son)" but "you are my favorite (person)."

I remember a crisis-of-faith type story my dad once told me about when my mom was pregnant with my sister. Turning to his mother for advice, he wondered to her how he could love any other child as much as he loved me.  He relayed to me that she told him not to worry- some version of: "Your heart will expand"...  In my memory, his voice trails off and the "old soul" inside the child-me is left wanting to ask, "Wait, who did you end up loving more?!?"

We all shift in the bed and Jake is somehow even closer to me- pressed up against me tighter than he was before.  I am a pretzel... my hips are mostly facing the ceiling, but my shoulders are pressed mostly into my pillow.  Right arm under my own body and the young one's neck.  Left arm reaching awkwardly back, pinned between my back and the elder.  These boys are not floppy beanbags anymore.  They are pointy bags of bones.  Already in their posture and gaits, Katy and I see the teenage boys they are intent on morphing into approaching us.

I think, "I can't move!"

Then I realize I don't want to... We all have a full day of work ahead of us, but this part of the day... This is like plugging in my batteries so I will be fully charged for the rest of the day.  There is a time to untangle and get into the shower.  There's a time to stay tangled up in the covers for a few more minutes with your babies...