Today has been weird since the get-go. We didn't exactly charge out of the blocks this morning; TwoBert insisted on taking another shower, because 1) he had gotten "REALLY REALLY DIRTY!" overnight, and 2) now he is "ALL GROWED UP!" We hit some massive vehicular snarls on the highway and, just as I was making my last turn before parking at Robert's school, we nearly ran over Ira Glass. Yes, I was moving briskly, but the dude was wandering in the middle of the road looking for a cab and oblivious to the many cars that quite legally could have ended his American life.
T's school year is over, but Robert, public-school sucker that he is, has two weeks left. So the little one and I have been spending lots of time together, on our own. I've thought recently that, throughout the life of this blog, TwoBert has gotten the greens end of the carrot. As second children often do. You might not know, for example, that when he was a toddler we had lots of "accidents" involving me being "struck" in the "plums," in a brazen attempt to preserve his role as Darling Baby instead of Forgotten Middle Kid.
We're approaching the Single Dad's Summer of Zone Defense, when Daddy squares off against two entirely different sets of tastes, wants, needs, and thought processes. This gap can be boiled down the the essential Big Apple litmus test: the bagel. Robert insists on plain, and TwoBert won't eat anything but an everything.
It's the Alpha and the fecking Omega, baby! Pray for me.