I’ve taken to calling Errol a boy. He’s a few days shy of one year and three months, so that moniker is probably right on. A typical day for our sweet Errol looks a little like this.
When Errol wakes up around 7:00 (he has slept as late as 8:30!) he is ready for a bottle of “milk”: rice cereal and formula mixed with anti-reflux medicine, prevacid (Sounds great. I think you can get this at the Whole Foods Juice Bar). Then it’s time to change his wet diaper and get him all ducked up for the day. If things are going well, Errol might sit in our arms while we all eat breakfast, if it’s a normal day, Errol lies happily on his favorite mat while we feel guilty about not holding him, as we gulp down breakfast. Errol’s prized mat has an aquatic theme (for the parents, not the kids, who probably don’t give a flip about the seashore) that’s got smiling seahorses (do they even have mouths? Would they smile if they did??), happy fish (another lie), and the most beatific starfish you’ve ever seen (the only ones I’ve seen are not so beatific, they’re dead). The nice thing about the mat (other than its biologically optimistic theme) is that it has an overarching foam tube from which to attach plastic toys for Errol to play with (his favorite is a picture of him with his brother that he can spin around). After our leisurely 3 minute breakfast it’s off to work for daddy and off to the learning factory for the boys. Daddy gives hugs and kisses all around as he heads down the street at a pleasant trot, late again to school.
Mama then scoops up the boys and their lunches and hauls them all out to the car/bus where they dash off to schools. The school drop has become a pleasure, and it’s a real thrill to watch Owen walk into school all by himself (an amazing feat, he is getting to be such a big boy) and a joy to deliver Errol to his teachers/aunties Anne, Paula, and Audrey. At school Errol is still doing vision, physical, occupational, speech, and (my favorite) music therapy. Apart from all the therapy, he spends time in circle, singing, playing, eating, pooping (like night follows day), and preparing for the SAT. It sounds exhausting, but because of all the stimulation, energy, and excitement it gives him, school is probably the highlight of his day.
This is the time Mama Cary works. She’s makes the world’s most amazing sandwiches (the most delicious, fresh, and creative ingredients on her gorgeous homemade foccacia) which she sells at a local café. After her whirlwind of cooking, Cary then repeats the whole pickup thing in reverse about three hours later. If stoplight Karma is in gear, and her foot is heavy, Mama can race home in good enough time to qualify for the Le Mans Grand Prix. Back home, after food and trips to the bathroom, it’s off to bed for the Little Man and to quiet time (hora tranquila) for Owen. During the nap hour’s respite, Cary gets her reward for all the backbreaking work: time to clean the kitchen. Cary really deserves an award for all she does (and so beautifully). Daddy sashays back home just in time for the end of nap and then it’s play time before dinner. In the warm months we go to the pool for a quick dip, during the rest of the year, we run out to the children’s museum (a museum for, not about, children) the library or the bookstore. Then it’s a race for the home stretch: dinner time, pajama mania, bedtime stories, and finally we end the day with Errol’s song: “Good night, sleep tight, wake up bright, in the morning light.” Owen’s sense of humor is emerging and he loves to change random words to “lava”, “swimming pool”, “poopy”, or whatever else is on his mind. As we sing, Errol looks up at us with grateful eyes, because after a day like this he is ready for sleep. Then it’s rinse, repeat, and do it all again the next day. It may sound crazy (because it is), but it really is (most of the time) the most wonderful thing.
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