We were attending Elisabeth’s orchestra concert recently, and I found myself having trouble concentrating on the music. I realized that I was distracted by a man standing nearby who was jingling the change in his pocket. The sound was not very loud, but was just audible enough to draw my attention. I was a little annoyed, until I realized that this was probably the experience of people sitting near the Lee family at concerts, church services and other halls of quiet when Timothy makes his quiet little noises (much less his louder repertoire). I suddenly empathized with this man, and pointed it out to Timothy, who was not impressed.
My left knee has started to hurt when I kneel. We’re Catholic and so a kneeling injury is an occupational hazard, but I couldn’t figure out why it was striking me now. Then I realized that I am on my knees constantly with TRBL – kneeling to change his diaper here, kneeling to give him his bath there, kneeling to pick up his toys everywhere. I guess it’s an older parent’s version of a repetitive motion injury.
One evening last week, Laura was leaving the house to pick up the girls. At the same time that I was getting ready to put Timothy down for the night. As Laura walked out the door, she mentioned that she had just put French fries in the oven and that they take eleven minutes to cook. I was pre-occupied plotting my strategy to coax Timothy to sleep, and besides, I already knew that French fries always take 45 minutes to cook.
After 15 minutes, I was done reading to Timothy and smelled something burning. We went into the kitchen and I could see that the French fries were just fine (though it should be noted that the word ‘fries’, if the ‘i’ is moved to the left, spells ‘fires’).
To make a long story short, Timo took his time getting to sleep, and by the time I emerged from his room, the ground floor of the house was engulfed in smoke. I made my way to the kitchen, removed the offending spuds and put the pan of little blackened sticks on the driveway to cool off (for potential future consumption).
As I ran to turn off the smoke alarm and prop open doors, it struck me that next year I should put the screens in before the middle of May, both to let in the fresh air and to provide ventilation in the event of a French fry fire (the fries are on the left).
We walked into Timothy’s room one morning last week, and were greeted by a smiling red headed Tarzan, with his left arm bare and free of his pajamas. As he mugged for an impromptu photo shoot, we tried to piece together how he decided to exit just one arm from his nightwear. But regardless, the Wild Boy was enjoying it and gave every indication that this would not be the last time we’d be seeing this jungle fashion.
Which is fine with us as long as Tarzan’s in charge of the freedom fries next time.