Cookers: the growing menace

Recently a very good friend of ours visited from Miami and, since she had a craving for Indian food, we were happy to indulge her with a trip to our favorite local Indian buffet (which we rarely get to frequent these days). We had a pleasant meal, enjoying curry and conversation and even the overcooked, cold gulab jamun which Logan quickly identified as "bald ice cream." After we paid and while we were waiting for our friend to return from the restroom, Logan caught sight of the bowl of after-meal seeds that aficionados chew to cleanse their palates. He saw his mommy partake and so, of course, he had to as well. In the process he spilled a spoonful on the table. I walked over all cool and calm and said, "I wonder who made that mess?" Logan dropped his eyes for a moment, lost in thought; after a few moments, he met my gaze once more and said: "Maybe it was the cookers!*"

* cooker (noun): in Loganese, this refers to one who cooks (not to be confused with the standard english 'cooker' which refers to a piece of hardware used in the cooking process), i.e. a cook or chef.

"What am I doing??!"

That could well be my motto since becoming a father (and I'm guessing that Nina would confess to asking that question at least once since becoming a mother), but what I'm thinking of right now is something Logan used to say. He used to jump around and shake back and forth like a flounder flung up on dry land (except that, unlike the flounder, Logan would do so on his feet). To top it all off, he'd have this curious grin on his face and ask "What am I doing?!!" Nina and I could never figure out the origin of that charming dance, but we got LOTS of laughs out of it. Now, within the last couple of days, Shay has taken to doing something similar. Just last night, for example, while Nina and I were watching some fine NBC Olympics' coverage, Shay pulled up on the coffee table, directly between the television and N and I. She looked at us coyly and then commenced to bobbing up and down and swaying back and forth. Very Loganesque (though with not quite the same 2-year old boy's intensity). So now I'm wondering: is she aping something she's seen N or I do? (and did Logan do the same?) Or did she learn it from Logan (they do look at one another quite frequently at mealtimes, and Logan has been known to make some noise and motion while eating), leaving Logan's acquisition the only remaining mystery. Everyone loves a good mystery, I guess. And as long as I can ask "What am I doing??!" there's guaranteed to be some in all our lives.

Where the (little) wild things are

Anyone who has had the manifold blessing (and by manifold I mean what sometimes seems like equal parts blessing and curse) of raising two children will recoil in fear when I dare to write the two words that must be uttered in hushed, sibilant tones: sibling rivalry. Yes indeed, how the words do inspire dread in the hearts of the initiated. And so, too, for Nina and I (it just struck me that I had been calling her "my wife" in the earlier posts, as I imagined for some reason that this was all in some sense anonymous -- until I remarked upon the subtitle of our blog, just another example, as Nina would say, of me being me). As I was saying, so, too for Nina and I. We've been struggling mightily of late with this sibling rivalry thing, and at times it's threatened to beat us. But the beauty and wonder and outright pride we have in Shay and Logan always saves us. And just the other day, a ray of hope split the leaden skies of another difficult day. Logan was in his high chair and Shay, enraptured by his sing-songing laughing presence as she usually is (he's her big brother after all, and until he starts hitting her the spell is unbroken), enraptured she turns from what she's doing and starts crawling toward him. Logan's eyes turn and fix on her, eyes that sometimes fill with a stormy, thundering desire to push or hit or knock down. His eyes fix on her and fill with sunshine, filled like twin fountains by that unquenchable ray of hope; he looks at her and says, "Here comes the Little Wild!"

Nina and I look at each other, our own eyes feeling the warmth of the words. I'm not sure who said it first, but there was an "Awww!" and then a "how cute!" and then the clouds, the scaly armor of the leaden day, began to fall and disappear. There was hope in the Roy-Lewis household, and Logan himself was leading the charge.