This Old House

82 Weeks

I make dinner most nights. I'm not a good cook but I try to make the simple things tasty. When I squeal into the driveway after work, I have about twenty minutes to get tummies fed. We like the tradition and even use the candles for every super. Ah, theatre people. Cold noodles taste better in good light.

As I prep in the kitchen, I can hear Greg and Ren playing with a new toy tool set. We had to bring one home after Ren obsessed over the carpenter who fixed our front porch. This happened two months ago and Ren still repeats his name at odd times:

"Ren, who loves you?"

"Julio."

Of course.

I boil water. I light candles. I hear these kinds of sentences coming from the living room:

"Daaaaddddiieee. Loovvve ooo."

"I love you too, Ren. (Pause.) Don't hit the dog with the hammer."

Short and Sweet

80 Weeks

This week I told Ren we were going to New York City to visit friends for Mommy's birthday. We drove down with Ren in his new car seat for the first time. He slept most of the way and repeated, “SSSIIDDDIIIEEE!” when we got there. That night, when the birthday cake came out—the one made for me from scratch by one of my oldest and dearest pals—Ren said, "MMAAAMMMIIIEEEE!!" The next day we went to Central Park and invited a few folks who hadn't met Ren. It was like a reunion from our wedding. So many friends of silver and gold. Ren said a hardy, “HAALLOOWWW!!!” to each person and smiled for pictures with them when asked.

Back home and a few days later, our family was driving around, running errands. On our last stop, I ran inside the grocery store and left Greg and Ren to the backseat. Greg turned to our son and said, “Now it’s just Daddy and Ren.” Ren's response, a simple, "Pishies*."

*Penises.