Seesee

Ender and Remy remember Luis. I wonder now, if they ever wonder where their other uncle is. Remy, I suspect, has a sharpish memory. Far less now, but often when Kelly and I first took up in his old room, I would open the door and from another room I would hear the nephews shout ''See-see!''.

They come zooming around the corner now and they find me, only me.

This doesn't happen often now. I don't think it may happen again, it has become so rare. I am not sure how I feel about that.

I have a favorite t-shirt of The Boy's. I keep it near. Remy jumped upon me as I was trying to take a late afternoon nap. He spyed the shirt and jabbed his finger at it. "See-see!"

Remy only saw the back of the shirt which readS 'Luigi'. I am not ready to think that Remy can read and I believe it must have been the redness of the shirt that he recognized. None of us has a shirt of deep red with white lettering.

Except now, me, I suppose.

I hope I remember to ask Remy about it when he is able to verbalize the more abstract, such as loss and grief and puzzlement and impotent, directionless, anger.

I shall hide the shirt from him and reveal it later. If Remy continues to see it on my bed, as a pillowcase to one of my pillows, it may burn my bridge to his remembering and any association of the shirt with that of his littlest lost uncle See-see.

Poop to That

Ender, in all his glory, did drop a masslve deuce in the sphere of porcelain Influence.

The boys are close to three years old and have thus far resisisted mightily the training of pottyness.

I will break them yet. Soon they will poop on command. On my enemies. It will be glorious.