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8:51 a.m. - 2012-05-18
10 cc's of love.

I keep a small trash can within arm's reach of my seat here, it's amazing how much scrap and crap I generate over the course of a day. Three nights in a row now Wolf's come in to say good night and he's knocked over the trash can. It's becoming a ritual with us much like the lap sitting and 'Go To Sleep' song used to be. Last night he added a new wrinkle- stumbling, bonking me upside the head thereby jamming my headphones into my ear hard enough to make my left ear ring and forcing the right-hand side of the 'phones to pop out, grab my glasses and knock them askew. That's when he jumped back and knocked over the trash can.

He's just like his old man in this way. No idea of how to move. Graceful as a moose on roller-skates. By my best reckoning Mike and I were in a bed together over 8,500 times and every single one of those 8,500 times he ground an elbow into my boob, leaned on my hair, thudded me in the solar plexus, and cut my calves with his toe nails. And that was just the horizontal, upright the man was even more of a menace. Poor Wolf is just as sloppy with his bod, just as clueless about where his arms and legs are going and how much force is behind his stumbles and blows. Unlike his father, when Wolf bonks, stomps and gouges me he's sorry. Always sorry. So last night after practically knocking my head off my shoulders and dumping the trash can again he apologized a whole bunch and backed away from my desk as carefully as he could. I said good-night, smiled encouragingly, tidied the spilled garbage, and put all my headgear back in place. A couple minutes later Wolf came back in to tell me he'd gotten my coffee maker set up for the morning. An act of contrition, you see. I thanked him nicely and made a mental note not to hit the 'go' button on the Mr Coffee until I'd checked to see just how many pounds of coffee grounds he'd managed to cram into the basket.

Not too many as it turns out, most of the coffee grounds were on the floor. There was a nice spread on the counter too. He'd also overfilled the water well and the excess had fanned out in a delta that went from stove to cutting board. The toaster oven had had a nice swim and the stack of CDs I keep in the corner were nice and clean now. I had a rueful laugh and cleaned the mess up, all the while thinking about my gormless kid, his good heart and kind intentions, and how I'd never hurt his feelings by telling him what a disaster his contrite coffee making had been. This song popped into my head and while it's not an exact fit to my situation, being kind and patient with my walking disaster area of a son is one of the things I do for love.


Happy Friday, y'all. ~LA


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