jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

If anyone is still reading after my long absence, I hope you’ll join me at my new home.

That goldfish I mentioned about six inches down? He didn’t make it.

I took Alden to the grocery store so Damon could, ahem, take care of business. When we got home he told me he got wrapped up watching The Karate Kid and forgot. I’m upstairs now, having just put Elliot down. I hope everything is resolved when I get back down there.

Poor goldfish. I hope he didn’t suffer.

I wanted Damon to take care of it while we were gone because I didn’t want Alden to find him shoulder deep in the tank trying to take out the body. Here’s the thing: I really don’t want to talk to Alden about this at all.

When Zoe died I put on my big-girl pants and told him. He made me expain over and over about how Zoe was very old and that her body stopped working. And how she was never coming back. He held his hand over my mouth while I talked, his buffer against uncomfortable news. Each time was a little torture as I blinked back tears and tried to distill this loss of my 22-year-old cat to my 2-year-old boy. I didn’t want to lie to him. I didn’t talk about rainbow bridges or kitty heaven.

Then a few months later I got to tell him my dad died. That actually went down a little better. He didn’t know my dad well, and now had experience with the concept. He was mostly distressed by how sad mommy was. Still is. And I still have to endure that shock of grief every time my well-meaning boy walks up to pat my hand and say, “Don’t worry Mommy. Grandpa will come back soon.” Sometimes when we leave for school he asks my why Grandpa’s car is in our garage.

So I don’t want to talk about the goddamn goldfish. Enough. Enough of these conversations.

I’m going to put Alden to bed in about half an hour. The fish tank sits on a chest in our bedroom and we usually take a few moments to admire White Orange while we drift off to sleep. I could get very lucky and he might not look over there tonight. And them maybe he will forget we need to feed the fish in the morning. It’s possible both of those things will happen and I’ll get a reprieve. If they don’t, I have no idea what I’m going to say.

Damon just called from Kentucky to hear how Elliot and I are getting along. I could hear Alden goofing off in the background.

I told him that Elli and I slept in until 9. Then we had breakfast with a chocolate chaser, played with the rocking horse, stacked some blocks. After a few hours we had a little nurse and now he’s having a champion nap.

This weekend is making me realize that it’s a ton more work to wrangle two kids. Genius, right? But here’s the surprise: It’s a ton more work even with two adults. Single parenting Elliot is so much easier than tag-team parenting both of them. Even with two pretty-good-natured boys. It’s still a constant chorus of jealousy (Pick ME up!) and competition (Look at ME!) and squabbling (I want ALL the cars!). Alden is the only one who talks, but they’re both clearly sending the message.

So what’s the solution? Do we split them up in the evening? One upstairs with mom and one downstairs with dad? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the idea of, you know, the family?

I will say that we do all enjoy our near-nightly dinner. I think that has a lot to do with both boys being strapped in their seats.

I’m confident this will get easier as they get older. I think the key will turn in the lock when Elliot is a little more amenable to conversation. Right now Alden will try to reason with Elliot for a moment, “Elliot, please don’t mess up my tower.” (poor Alden) before giving up and bashing him in the face with a block (poor Elliot). And they both fight bedtime like rabid pumas (poor Mommy and Daddy).

I try to stay current on which way the digital wind is blowing, but the reality is that I’m usually the one who can be heard to say, “A rabbit! With a pancake on his head!” about five years after everyone else.

But today I followed two eruptions in delightful real time.

First is Nerdy Apple Bottom’s awesome, in-your-face defense of her cutie pie son.

To all the Boy Daphnes out there: C’mon over to my house! Bring your cool moms!

The second was that a writer had some of her content lifted directly into Cooks Source magazine. The fact that it its a print enterprise is a little surprising. I think more lifting happens directly onto the web. But what was even more surprising was the editor’s response, when contacted.

Holy polished pitchforks, did the internet respond. I actually work for one of the companies that seems to have also been copied. Normally I’d get all cc-ish to our legal team but I think if Neil Gaiman is on it then I probably don’t need to be.