Welling up

Thanks to all who chimed in regarding TwoBert's bowels, and the minimal production thereof. And let the word go forth from this time and place that all is well. TwoBert gave forth Friday night, and most of it made it into the toilet. We're not quite sure how the rest of it got where it got (my wife aptly suggested we call in a CSI team to analyze the splatter pattern), but it's all down the pipe now.

And now, we must quite belatedly shift topics to something far more compelling: Why I've been crying so much lately.

It started when idle clicking landed me on ABC Family and "The Sound of Music," right when the kids meet Baroness Schräder in their sopping drapeclothes. The Captain is incensed. Mortified. He's ready to take Maria back to the abbey by the scruff of her neck. But when the kids sing "Edelweiss," years of spiritual plaque are wiped away, and the Captain embraces his children and admits he's been a dick. Hokey as hell, and it makes me blubber every time.

Later, Robert and I found ourselves debating the merits of bunk beds, and he suggested we just put TwoBert's bed on top of his. I told him his bed probably wasn't strong enough, and he assured me that his bed could hold "a buffalo, Eli Manning, and a 10-year-old." Which kind of floored me and had  me laugh-crying out of pure shock.

Today I had the chance to clear a few episodes of "In Treatment" off the DVR, and I saw the one from last Tuesday when Alex's dad visits Paul. The discussion is gut-wrenchingly sad and teeming with filial angst, and when I regained my composure I called my dad and told him I loved him.

And then came the pièce de résistance at the playground. TwoBert and I were playing our usual game on the swings, whereby he hurtles at me and I pretend he's kicked me in the face. I jerk my head back and send my cap flying over my head, to hilarious effect. The caveat, however, is not to gaze over his shoulder and look for your other son, lest 32 pounds of torque hit you square in the schnozz.

This, too, will bring the tears, each one a karmic reminder not to discuss your kid's pooping problems on the Internet.

Comments

[tuckova]

This is not related to this post, but I wanted to say that -largely on the basis of your praise- I went out and got a collection of E.B. White essays and it finally got rainy enough that I felt I deserved them and read and read and cried and laughed and felt grateful to Mr. White for being such a genius and grateful to you for pointing it out.

[Chris]

HA! I thought I was the only one who played that game with my boys!

And don't think it hasn't caused me a small amount of discomfort at the thought that they would consider this normal behavior and carry it over to their friends at daycare; aiming headkicks at their friends as they went by the swings.

But we've luckily had no such incidents and other than the resulting whiplash and headaches that accompany the activity, it's been all good!

[Amanda]

Yay for poop! You know your life has changed when instead of filling your calendar with night life, you use it to track your kids' bowels. Good times.

That episode of In Treatment got me too. Some of the best acting I've ever seen.

[21stCenturyMom]

Sounds to me like you have your period. Crying happens.

[Jennifer H]

I missed that episode. Will have to look for it.

Me, too, with the crying lately. I blame it on blogging and some of the things I've been writing about lately. Although, writing about my kids' bathroom habits would have made me cry a few years ago.

[Undomestic Diva]

I thought crying was just another part of the day, right along with eating and drinking [the hard stuff].

Meanwhile, since you asked, my 5 year old can [ahem] produce ungodly sized... watermelons. He is the unknown spokesperson for that toilet than can "swallow" an entire basket of golf balls in one flush.

Good times.

[kristi]

I lieu of wit, let me just say I thoroughly enjoy your posts. Keep up the good work.

[Andrea]

LOL! Glad everything came through. :)