Mornings with Children | Day 30

DAY 30 LAST DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I lie on the couch and my daughter lies on top of me, her ear against my chest.  Presumably she’s listening to my heart beat while attempting to fall asleep.  It’s well past her bedtime and her arm is still all messed up from who-knows-what-happened to it.  My wife took her to Urgent Care earlier today and the doctor “popped” her elbow back in but it’s still just dangling at her side like an al dente noodle.

She’s spent most the day sitting on the ground, staring at her feet and weeping.  The doctor says her arm is fine and she’s just “afraid” to use it but the way she wails suggests otherwise.  I pick her up and lay her on my chest and she stares up at me.  I say, “I love you” and she says, “Wuff Foo”.

Jade enters the room and says, “You wanna put them to bed?” and I know that it’s thirty minutes, forty-five minutes, sixty minutes past their bedtime but I don’t care.  It’s Saturday night and Quinn is hurt and she’s laying on my chest and I don’t want to ruin this moment.

I say, “Just a couple more minutes,” sounding like a kid who doesn’t want to go to bed rather than a husband who wants to keep his kids up.

I kiss Quinn’s forehead and will time to stop.



As I’m lying on the couch with my daughter, my son comes over.  He’s gotten hold of my iPhone and has disabled it for 8 minutes.  I use the locking feature because he knows how to slide the bar and then begins to “accidentally” (Uh-oh) delete apps.  The phone gives you ten attempts to get the 4 digit passcode correct.  If you fail, it locks you out for 1 minute.  If you fail again, 2 minutes.  If you fail again, 4 minutes… 8 minutes… 15 minutes…

Rory hops up in my lap, wedging himself between Quinn and the cushions, helping himself to the right side of my chest, and I can see the red “DISABLED” banner across my phone.  Oh, well.  At least I know that my apps are safe.  At least I know that he won’t delete Words with Friends and Flashlight and Sky View Free, which allows me to locate constellations.

He lays down on his back and snuggles in close, the disable timer going higher and higher.  He bumps Quinn’s arm and she squeals.  He sits up and stares at her with a face that looks like he’s just recognized her existence; like the face you’d have if you unexpectedly stepped on a toad.

I run my fingers through Quinn’s hair and whisper, “It’s okay.  It’s okay,” trying to work my voodoo-parent-magic on her busted elbow.  She stifles a few tears back and I kiss the back of her head, continuing, for lack of a better word, to “pet” her, although it truly feels more sentimental than that.

I look at Rory, who has dropped the phone to his side and has taken a great interest in his suddenly-present sister.  He says, “See-see,” and points at Quinn and I say, “That’s right!” and I say, “Can you rub her head?” and he reaches out and gently rubs his fingers through her hair and I say, “Can you say, ‘It’s okay’,” and he says, “O’tay… o’tay,” and sounds so much like Buckwheat that an image of Eddie Murphy from SNL is drawn to mind.

I kiss the back of Quinn’s head again and grab some of her curls in my mouth and playfully tug on them.  Rory slowly leans forward, unhinges his jaws and grabs a mouthful.

He sits up, laughs and disables my phone for a full 60 minutes.

One thought on “Mornings with Children | Day 30

  1. I hope Quinn’s elbow feels better soon.

    Thanks so much for doing daily posts for the last 30 days. i’ve really enjoyed readaing them.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: