Da Boys, Da Boys

Remy and Ender have been having an excellent day so far. Ender is quick to wake up. Remy's eyes open like the coming dawn. A small slit appears, then slowly grows full. Remy sits upon my lap now and watches me type. They are enthralled with the computer and I don't doubt that they will soon become far more proficient than I. I consider myself a bit behind these days anyway. Behind is not the best word. I communicate very well, but I take more time. Faster faster faster? If I want to make mistakes, I will use my voice. If I want to make big mistakes, I write.

Remy growls like me. He also has learned to narrow his eyes, as I do when angry. His eyes are dark, dark, and when he smiles they burst into happy crinkles. Remy is the sweetheart. Much more sensitive to the slings and arrows of misfortune, when confronted with an obstacle Remy tends to fall down. I mean he falls down onto his back and lies there.

Ender is of hardier emotional stock. Tenacious and manipulative, he will attempt, fail, try again, and if he fails again he will try something else. An example by comparison, which should never be done with siblings as many loving parents say, but that is inevitable and should not be assumed to be a comparison of worth, just of capability.

Ender and Remy's toys are in a tall hamper. They can easily reach toys at the top, but their little baby arms can't get the toys at the bottom. When they first encountered this obstacle, Remy reached and reached and cried when he couldn't get his truck or stuffed animal or whatever the toy was. Ender made the same reaching attempt and also failed, perhaps more so than Remy because Ender is the shorter. Ender pushed the hamper over, crawled inside, and grabbed the ball or helmet or music box or whatever it was.

But Remy knows a good idea when he sees it. Tipping the hamper has become standard operating procedure for any tall container.

I am pleased, because this puts them on par with the average raccoon. Not as agile, not yet, but a few days ago Barbara came upon them both on the kitchen table happily rooting through her purse like little pig-pockets. They had climbed on the chair and then onto the table. The kitchen table is no longer the safe haven it has served as so well. This should please my mother. She gets most anxious when objects clutter the kitchen table. Her hands involuntarily open and clench, open and clench when she sees mess. I love my mother, but I have to remind myself that she had less than a traditional childhood.

Ender is sitt1ing on my knee and has removed my hat. The temperature outside is approaching 80 degrees Fahrenheit, or 26.6 degrees Celsius. We will go to the big park, a short wagon ride up the road. Always a good time.