The lottery has not been able to guess our numbers just yet. In fact, in their efforts last night, they were only able to come up with one of them. Number 32. So there'll be no celebrating this morning.
The coffee has brewed. The Free Press has come. Breakfast is not far off from being done. And now, as I write this, Little Man wakes...
7:49 am
Back at it.
Little Man came downstairs. Clutching three stuffed animals. Pajamas soaking wet. He overflowed his diaper again.
I got the sheets off his bed. He's too big for diapers. Only two-and-a-half, but a big kid and so this morning we are trying big-boy underwear. Again. It's certain to be a failure, but failures are small successes. The more times he bombs out in his trousers, the closer he is to using the potty. Anyway...S.B.'s making breakfast. Has Little Man changed and under control. So I get to write. Even if it is only this. Simple man journal writing early on a Sunday morning.
Cold out there today. Icy feel. Everything still. It's a beautiful thing. I could live in a place where it is always like this. Thirty-five degrees in the morning. Sun warming us to a high of sixty-two during the day. Yes, I could. Maybe one day, if we ever win the lottery, find good fortune, make it as a real writer, we'll have an opportunity to live in a place like that. Or have a cottage. Somewhere near the water. Away from the city. Surrounded by trees and crisp clean air. I could be hauling in armloads of firewood right now. Lighting the kindling. Stoking the flames.
But there's no use dreaming too much. Do that and I'll miss out on today. The simple everyday moments that help knit us closer together.
Like this...
S.B. was changing Little Man. He was getting worked up about the clothing I'd picked for him. Brown corduroys. Blue tee-shirt. Short-sleeved button up shirt. The pants went on all right. The tee-shirt was okay. But that button shirt...well, the kid hates button shirts.
“No button shirt!” he said.
“But it's such a nice shirt,” S.B. said. “You'll look great. So handsome! Won't he, Daddy?”
I was pouring myself a cup of coffee. Scanning the Free Press' headlines.
“Oh sure, yep," I said. "You'll look great. Nothing better than a button shirt.”
I put down the paper. Took a sip of coffee and watched Little Man and Momma go through this daily ritual.
“No button shirt!” he shouted.
S.B. sighed. Little Man crossed his arms. Both of them turned toward me.
Dear old Dad. Standing there sipping his coffee. Hair sticking up all over the place. Bags under his eyes. Still wearing his goofy red and black plaid pajamas. Ready to do absolutely nothing because today is Sunday. And Sunday means couch, Free Press, football, high calorie, fatty foods, and comfortable clothes. A.K.A....goofy pajamas. If he can pull it off.
But, from the looks on their faces, I knew this wouldn't be the case.
“Daddy button shirt!!” He shrieked with excitement.
I set down my coffee. Headed down the hallway.
“Sure thing,” I said. “Daddy will wear a button shirt.”
“See!” S.B. said, “Daddy loves button shirts!”
And here I sit. A little while later. Dressed up like a big boy. S.B. and Little Man in the kitchen. Laughing. Putting the final touches on breakfast. The sun up over the horizon. Blue-jay outside the window in the apple tree. Three squirrels, one-after-the-other, doing a high-wire act across the cable line. And me, feeling the warmth of another Sunday. Happy. Like we've just won the lottery.
