So there I am cleaning him, disinfecting the floor when I remember we are dog sitting. I get the dog out the door for a little walk.

Come back, negotiate breakfast, the kids settle on bagels & cream cheese with a side of fruit (strawberries, blackberries and raspberries — this is important to Tobias, b/c they all have the word “berry” in their name). Get them dressed. Plop them in front of the TV for Spongebob Square Pants to buy me enough time to make lunches, gather up the dirty clothes and hop in the shower.

I then dial-in for my 8 a.m. conference call, put the phone on mute while I dress, check on the kids, and start packing everything up.

I put on their shoes and coat. Grab the backpacks, my bag, the dirty laundry. Clean the dishes. Turn off the TV. Herd the boys to the garage and into the car where they both insist I help them with their seat belts even though they are both more than capable of doing it themselves.

I am still on the call.

I start the washing machine. Get in the car. Drive the kids to the first school drop off. Take both boys into the school, sign Caleb in, watch him find a friend to ask to play. Take Tobias back to the car, strap him in, drive to the coffee shop. The street is really noisy, I am afraid it will be my turn to speak at any second, so we stay in the car a bit longer.

I can’t take it anymore. Tobias is talking non-stop about Harry Potter. We run out, order coffee and donuts at Dynamo where we stand in a long line behind no less than 4 men in their early forties with longish out of control curlyish hair, ducati-style leather jackets, tightish jeans — the early middle age hipster as opposed to the twenty-something hipster. Get back in car. Still on the call.

After an hour of having the earphones on, listening to others rambling on during their part and the laughing in between speakers, the call disconnects before I get a chance to speak. The phone system doesn’t let me back in when I try to redial.

I phone my boss who says “too bad you missed the call.”

This happens two or three times a week. Every week.

“We were on a family vacation up in the San Juan Mountains in southern Colorado and this was your birthday present from me and your mother, back then, on the 29th of June in 1981.

You wanted to go for a trail ride with David, it was all you wanted to do, so we did and Uncle John and I came along too. It was a beautiful day when we started out, down in the valley, but the weather changed up on the side of the mountain: it went from a nice day to damn cold real quick, and a big strong wind came up and black clouds moved in low and it snowed and then it hailed; it hailed hard and lighting was cracking all around us.

The sudden bad-weather change spooked the stupid trail horses and scared the shit out of the young wrangler who was our guide. And I was sure glad John had come with us; he told us to get off the horses, to do it right now, and get under whatever cover we could find, and we did. Then we collected the horses and came down the mountain after the weather passed. We all had big tales to tell that night.”

Apparently Uncle John’s horse rolled on him and stepped on his back. This is the same trip where I fell climbing a rock, busted my chin open and Uncle John taped it shut. I still have a scar.

Me: “Don’t eat those, they are garbage.”
Tobias: “But we LIKE garbage.”
Caleb: “Yeah, and I like these crackers with the little sprinkles.”
Me: “Those crackers have ants on them.”
Tobias: “But we LIKE ants.”
Caleb: “Yeah, ants are our FAVORITE.”

I later found them hoarding the garbage ant crackers in their bedside table.

Tobias: “Caleb, mom licked your ice cream!”
Me: “No I didn’t!”
Tobias: “Yes you did. I saw you do it.”

Little rat.