Queen of Nostalgia

You know summer is here when school is out. Johnny's preschool let out a week earlier than Mikey's, so the little stinker and I got a jump start on Popsicles and afternoon picnics. Last Friday, Johnny and I were having outdoor fun (him splashing, me running for cover) while Mikey had his last day at school, where I knew he was having a water play day too (where the kids were all splashing, and all those teachers were wishing they could run for cover) and celebrating all the summer birthdays (was I supposed to make cupcakes for that? Crap.) After school, Mikey had OT with Mr.B, then Steve and I took the kids to the Pizza Store (their name for our favorite pizza place) and then to the park. After climbing, sliding, running, and swinging in the sun, we rounded out the day by getting drive-thru ice-cream cones and MiracleShakes (that’s Johnny’s term for chocolate milk shakes). I was just excited to sit down a minute and lick my chocolate covered cone, even though I was making a mess out of the steering wheel.

Home again, my little ones were grubby, not to mention sticky, and were herded to the bath ("Don't touch anything!" I chanted as I chased them upstairs. They of course touched everything). Bath time pretty much involves a lot of splashing and fighting over who gets the biggest plastic dolphin and who has to have his hair washed first (neither seems to enjoy this part – Johnny often tries to persuade me that Mikey, and only Mikey, needs his hair washed). Johnny attempts to drink the soapy water and Mikey tries to swim, and I keep a safe distance with my Harry Potter book, amazed they have any energy after our busy day.

After I get them safely out of the tub (and soaking myself in the process) and get them into fresh jammies, (now I am in a sweat after chasing them around the bed as they bounce from one end to the other), I start to fold laundry, trying to make order out of the chaos that is my closet, when Johnny comes in the bedroom.

Hair still damp and smelling like baby powder, wearing a little blue shirt from our trip to Chicago last year and a pair of summer sleep shorts with little doggies on them, he looked cute as could be. Looking closer, I saw that his eyes were barely open, and he was shuffling like a robot with broken arms. A quiver of fear tickles my belly. Too much sun? Too much MiracleShake? Too much swinging?

“Johnny? Are you okay?” I try to keep the panic out of my voice. He sighs, and bends at the waist, limply holding himself up.

“Can you fix me, MomMon?” He asks, a small smile playing at his lips, his eyes closed. He swings his limp arms, sighing again. The smile gets bigger, and he closes his eyes tight.

“Fix you?” My anxiety now replaced by curiosity, I found myself starting to smile. “What’s broken?”

He straightens up, sighs dramatically, slyly opens one eye and shuffles to the edge of the bed; he carefully slumps himself against it. He closes both eyes, fakes a snore, and then says, “I think I need new batteries.”