So, yes, THE BAND is just amazing, and Music from Big Pink is such a wonderful humane album that I can't help but dance and sing as I listen to it, doing dishes in the evening as Debbie and Matthew lie sleeping in our bed.
I have so much work to do that I'm avoiding it. I know that makes no sense at all, but I believe if you leave something long enough, you either get it done at the last minute because you don't have any choice, or the time to do it just slips by and you realise it wasn't that important anyway!
"Dad - why are you laughing?"
"Because I'm happy Matthew, because I'm happy"
It was tonight, and we were taking a shower. Well, he was. I'd only got in to wash his hair and body, and now dressed, I was sitting on the edge of the bath, laughing as he stood there, with the water streaming over his wet hair and white body. Sometime, like tonight, I just look at Matthew, utterly amazed that he's my son. That he calls me Dad. I can't conceive of how we could have created such a wonderful person, his whole life stretched - unknowingly to him - out before him.
He went to kindergarten for the first time today. After the shower he was sitting on my knee, warm and cosy in his pajamas and told me about it. He painted, and played with blocks, and yes, there were some other kids there, but, no, they didn't go outside because it was raining. I told him I used to go to kindergarten when I was his age.
"When you were a little boy like me Dad?"
"Yes, when I was a little boy like you"
"But now you're a big man!"
"Yes I am, and one day you will be too. And you might have have a little boy of your own"
He smiled at that thought. "Yes", he said.
I was there when he was born. I've held him and yelled at him. Tickled him and cuddled him. Felt his body soften and slacken as he's fallen asleep in my arms. Three years old, he's grown before my eyes. Our games now involve horsey rides and car rides. I kneel on the floor as he climbs onto my back, holding round my neck to stop from slipping off as I rise up on my knees and neigh like a horse. And then on my back, as I hold his hands and he stands on my chest, driving a car down a bumpy country lane.
He's growing before my eyes. Moments seemingly caught are blurred and overlaid with each passing day until the present moment seems like the past and you think it's always been like that until the next memory slides from the future to the present. I fight hard to remember how he used to look, and how he crawled and the softpowdered baby smell as I held him in my arms.
But I remember his weight, and his arms clinging round my neck as I hugged him tonight. And I write these words to shore up my memory. And I'm laughing.
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Chickybabe.org
Believe it or not, Deborah's is the first journal I started reading on a regular basis.
Journals and blogs that I read regularly
Raising Hell
Feral Living
Hippycritical
Udder
My Life in 12 Point Font
Journal of a Writing Man
Some Jingle Jangle Morning
The Last Girl Scout
Potatoe.com
Journallife.com
Window to my Soul
Chickybabe
Sorabji.com
Yesterday's Makeup
Fifteen Milliliters
Fly Away
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Photo of tunnel copyright Bernd Klumpp, available from istockphoto.com