A Meeting to Remember

Kelly and Beckett have their ears on and they're watching our every move, too.

Just as Pebe was serving up homemade mini-pigs-in-a-blanket for her trio of beloved grandsons, I dismounted and clomped in the door in my tap shoes. I washed my filthy hands (I had been fixing grimy bikes at the Trips for Kids shop) and joyfully grabbed a seat at the table with my three sons.  I delighted in observing Kelly carefully eat his meal, dissecting each savory morsel, first, picking the doughy “blanket” off with his teeth before chomping the juicy “piggy.”  Beckett and Rhys enthusiastically joined in and beamed as I, for reasons unknown, halfway through dinner, belted out a few verses of Annie’s “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow.” (Dinner is always better with show tunes, don’t you think?) With our chins up, arms raised and hands shimmying like a true Broadway chorus, we all shrieked, screamed, and sung, as best we could muster, the crescendoing finale, “It’s on-ly a day aaaa-waaaaaaay!” and gave ourselves a rousing round of giggling applause. 

It had been a busy week.  It was already Wednesday and the boys hadn’t sniffed a bar of soap since their pre-Easter dunk and delousing on Saturday.  At some juncture, while chowing on mass quantities of piggies and their tasty blankies, Rhys crapped himself.  As she frenetically cleaned the kitchen, Pebe could smell Mr. Rhys’ ripe britches from the kitchen sink.  Collectively, we stunk like an old man farting in a mud puddle.  After cleaning their plates, the boys enjoyed one small piece of Easter candy each.  With a fresh layer of chocolate film smeared on their chins, the boys where served orders to march and "get soapy."

Rhys and his hot load of something special, a bit shower-phobic these days, was assigned to take a bath with Pebe. I led Kelly and Beckett into the master bath for a shower.  Beckett was a bundle of energy after sucking down a bite-size chocolate Easter egg for dessert.  He was crowing about subjects unknown and was wiggling his naked little ham hocks and doing dangerous silly-spins, I call them, on the slick glass tile floor.  In an effort to save him from additional head trauma, (see the blog entry Beckett: Small, Human, Crash Test Dummy) I snatched him mid-twirl and plunked him down in a seated position next to his mostly naked big brother.  After Kelly pulled off his last sock, ready to shower, he turned to Beckett and said, “Let’s have a meeting. Here’s your wine. Here’s mine.  Drink up.” Kelly tipped his head back and drank from an imaginary wine glass.

For the record, I enjoy a beer or two every so often, but I don’t really drink wine.  Catherine has, actually, been on a health kick and for the last 6.2 weeks has not sipped a single glass of wine or consumed anything containing alcohol.  We both, on a regular basis, host “meetings” for our various charitable causes where wine and beer keep the agenda flowing and attendance higher than without. While this tale of Kelly’s micro meeting, like a punchline devilishly delivered by an edgy comedian, is humorous it also uncomfortably conveys a jolting shock factor.

I try to teach the boys something new everyday – helping them discover new worlds in a book, introducing them to unknown neighborhood flora and fauna, or simply coaching them to, triumphantly, remove their own muddy shoes.  Kelly’s comments to his little bro certainly taught me, for better or worse, we teach them unintended lessons with every word, gesture, and action we make in view of their observant eyes and attentive ears.  I hope I can teach them, both with my actions and words, directly and obliquely, the right lessons they need to grow, thieve and be happy young men.   With consolation, I conclude, I haven’t ruined them, yet.

 

Rhys, before....

And after.