Saved by the dog

"Since when do we put a hot pot on the countertop without a trivet?

I am speechless. It is lecture time and “I didn’t mean too,” I say, when I am really thinking, big whoop. But I don’t say a word and he rants on. This and that. That and this.

Present day

“It’s your birthday today,” I said to the little one dressed in Santa-hat pajamas.

“Do I get presents?” he asked, calculating his reaction to the news.

The question was not a shock, more of a given. The entire month of November had consisted of birthday build-up, starting with a frenzy of gifts in the mail and multiple parties.

“Yes, a big one,” I said.

The Band-Aid bandit

There is a fascination in my house with Band-Aids.

They cover up cuts, scrapes, mosquito bites, even the slightest reddish imperfections. They heal us when we are feeling blue and lift our spirits when we need it the most. They are the cure to what ails us in one tiny little strip.

At the supermarket, my son and I spend a good deal of time in the Band-Aid isle, choosing between Snoopy and Bob the Builder. This is an important decision – one he does not take lightly. He picks a box, then changes his mind, staring at it, until he’s ready for a new picture in his hands.

Suddenly he has a boo boo, right there among the anticeptics and cotton balls.

Blue sky, dark day

There was never a bluer sky than the one I saw on Sept. 11, 2001. As I stood on a Long Island train platform waiting to board the 7:08 a.m. to New York City, I soaked in the brilliant color and warm sun.

I was living with my parents at the time, working in Manhattan at Good Housekeeping magazine, my first job out of college. I commuted every morning with my fiancé, Andrew, who I later married before we moved to Vermont.

We arrived at Penn Station around 8 a.m. with 50,000 other commuters. No one acknowledged each other. Eyes focused straight ahead. We kept pace with the pack.

Backpacks and bubbles of hope

He woke in the middle of the night and said his tummy hurt. Later he thought better, the booms of thunder made him scared. He was shy at the bottom of the stairs, speaking in his softest voice and hugging his puffy green dinosaur.

I reminded him the first day of school was tomorrow and he should get some sleep. "The thunder scares me though." I picked him up and felt his little heart beating out of his Buzz Lightyear pajamas.

Dinner conversation

One night as my husband and son sat down for dinner, the littlest mouth at the table turned to the biggest mouth and said, “How was your day Daddy?”

There was silence for a few seconds as the enormity of the moment sunk in. My husband could barely maintain his composure. The little ones words had melted the big one’s heart.

Happiness in a front loader

Every time my son pretends he is going to work, I ask him, “Where do you work?” He says, as if I should know by now, “with the dump trucks!” He is passionate about dirt and dumping. He knows, without hesitation, what makes him happy.

Kids on a hill

My neighbor comes out and yells up the hill. “It’s like an amphitheater out here.”

I laugh and agree. But, I guess we are being loud, free with our words, obnoxious maybe. The grass is lush beneath our feet and we make a playground of the hilltop.

Cookies for breakfast

When I hear it, I plunk my feet on the floor and walk up the stairs. My chest rises and falls with every inhale, exhale. The voice on the monitor is no longer a baby.

First words turn into first thing in the morning activities. “Honeycombs,” “juice,” “Barney.” One morning he actually said, “pasta.” This boy is hungry for words. He is full of life.

When I say “book” to distract him while I change his diaper, he happily obliges. He looks at Elmo and opens the tabs to see who’s hiding behind the door, under the bed, in the closet. There’s lots of places to look in this book.

Everybody needs a change

The little one’s voice is big. He’s nudging me while I sleep. Mama. Mama!

There are grunts between glimpses of speech. His hand is on my shoulder blade, digging in.

Why?

I try to put an end to the whys but they keep coming.

Please don’t jump on the couch. The little voice pipes up, “why?” He is just getting started.

“You might fall."