bald man blogging

Real Live Preacher’s latest Soft Story from a Small Church sent me remembering last night.

I got home from a frustrating day at work, and Kerri had to run out for a meeting. Samantha (3 years), Jacob (6-months last Sunday) and I (29 years in June) fended for ourselves, starting with dinner. Jake is really into eating, but I was a little suprised when he ate a big bowl of oatmeal, 1/2 a jar of carrots and an 8-oz bottle. He did fill his diaper during the meal, so maybe he had a little extra room. Not so much. The last four ounces of the bottle were kindly returned. He barely hit his pants, but my shirt and shorts were covered.

A quick change later, and the three of us were in the backyard. Samantha and I argued over whether “dandi-flowers” were or were not weeds, (The matter remains unsettled; I continue to dig them out by the roots, and she gives them new homes.) and Jake took everything in on a crisp spring evening. We were chatting over the fence to the neighbor, when Jake decided he didn’t want all his carrots. Returning a few, he once again nicked only the edge of his shirt while covering me.

By now it was eight, and that means bedtime. Samantha went potty (Did I mention she had back-to-back accidents for Kerri at nap time?) and put on her jammies, while I changed my clothes. Now that lunch carrots were fully thru his system, Jake needed another diaper change. After a bedtime story, The Emperor’s New Clothes, we settled into Samantha’s full-size bed to snuggle. Then came the moment when it’s worth getting puked on… twice.

I lay on my back with Jacob’s limp body draped across my chest. His breathing was unaturally slow for him on his own, but it synched up perfectly with my own easy breaths. Samantha lay next to us, her head on my shoulder and her hand on Jacob’s head. For a moment all was at peace, and then Samantha had to go potty again.

I hope the Preacher’s church always has boys around to give him glimpses of Elliot.