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personal

Roaring back

Quickly and completely

It’s been an incredibly busy few weeks. But that’s only part of why I’ve been quiet lately.

My son’s eczema got triggered somehow and it roared back in the worst possible way.

It’s tough being a caretaker. All you can do, sometimes, is just watch and feel helpless. It’s a special type of agony.

To see him is such discomfort was heartbreaking.

He went to see the doc for a last-minute appointment and the doc tried to reassure me that he would simply grow outta it, but that didn’t really help.

And some stuff I tried made things worse, in a manner of speaking.

See, someone told me once that the beach was good for eczema so I had to go to beach a number of times to see if it would help and it both made the situation better and worse, for various reasons.

Eventually, it went away again but I also brought him back out to NJ to stay for a few days, partly because he wanted to go but also because I was hoping that being away from the city would help too.

While he was in beach, he called an old caretaker of his who told him she would call right back but didn’t.

Him: Why didn’t she call back?
Me: I don’t know. You didn’t do anything wrong. People are busy sometimes.
Him: She doesn’t like me.
Me: That’s not true at all and you know it. People are complex and there are so many other things involved that you don’t know. (gently) I’m sorry, kiddo. Hey, do you want burgers for dinner?
Him: Burgers, yay!

I just asked him about it tonight, right before bed, and he said he didn’t remember it, which gave me some relief.

I told him again that she was probably busy and cared a lot about him, to which he laughed and said that he knew.

The thing about me, and I guess him, is our immense capacity to forget.

I envy him, a bit.

The power to forget so quickly and completely is a wonderous thing. Sometimes.

Blessed are the forgetful, after all…

And his eczema’s gone again, which is even better. It actually went away a few days before he left for NJ. That’s the thing about flareups, sometimes, you have zero idea what caused them in the first place.

Plus, he’s home. Which is the best.

Location: caught in the hot rain, hoping that it’ll all gonna be ok
Mood: relieved
Music: Sunshine, I don’t mind salt in my hair and the sand in my toes (Spotify)
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Becoming a fatty-fat-fat

I’m a goddamn blast

My son cried this week because I’ve been out almost every night for the past two weeks or so.

Him: I never see you.
Me: I see you every day! We have brekkie together every morning, I get you from school, and we have hours together.
Him: It’s not enough!

Parental guilt is awful. Anywho, this is because, for the first time in years that I went back to my Never turn down an invitation, rule and I’m exhausted.

It’s off again, so don’t invite me anywhere. I’m done until January 2nd, 2022.

Also, I’m ten pounds heavier; I went from 141 to 151 pounds in two weeks. For reasons that will be readily apparent.

For the first time, I met someone with the kid…because she had a kid too. A pretty adorbs daughter.

The woman was exactly my type: Attractive, buxom, wealthy, coloured eyed, wealthy…I mentioned wealthy already.

But…

Her: I hope you don’t mind, I brought pasta for her. She only eats pasta.
Me: Wait, what? But we’re in a Chinese restaurant. In Chinatown. There’re noodles galore.
Her: She’ll only eat plain pasta with some cheese and oil. That’s it. Nothing else.
Me: No fruit? No veggies? What about fiber and protein?
Her: She just won’t do it. (later) He has his own room? That’s great! She does too but sleeps with me every night.
Me: (nodding as the girl begins to bang on the table)

Non. Starter.

I’m at an age when it’s just as important that someone be a match for the kid as she is one for me.

I also met up with my buddy Ollie, who’s actually a black belt in jits despite us starting at the same time. My old coach was just the pits.

That’s him, above, listening to Chad tell a story at the bar.

The plus of hanging out with Ollie – I’ve known him close to 30 years – was that he could corroborate a lotta the crazy stories that I tell people.

Me: Tell him about our buddy that has so much scratch that he covers an entire restaurant’s bill.
Ollie: Even better, I’ve got pics of his wedding. Did Logan ever tell you…
Me: (later) It’s been a long time, man.
Him: (nodding) I read about your wife. Well, I tried to. I couldn’t finish it, I kept crying.
Me: Yeah. You and me both.

On that note, both Chad and Mouse were out with us. Mouse and I got along a lot better, I think, than we had in the past year. It was really nice, TBH.

She showed me pics of her and the kid that I’d never seen before and I gave her a kiss on her cheek.

Me: Thank you for that.
Her: (shrugging) Sure. Google shows me these pics all the time.
Me: Send it to me, will you, please?

She was nice enough to give Chad and me a lift to the subway in my old whip. Once she dropped us off, he and I promptly each got two slices of $1 pizza.

Him: God. Dollar pizza is so good.
Me: I’m getting us another slice.

On the ride home, I got up so an older couple could sit together.

They were so grateful. I teared up a bit because they looked so in love. She was so happy to sit next to him and lay her head on his shoulder.

I wonder if I’ll ever have something like that when I’m their age.

The next day, my cousin Ras came by to roll for a bit. She wanted to take me out because she got a crazy promotion that I (kinda) helped out with.

But that’s a funny story so I’ll tell you that part tomorrow or sometime this week.

Today, I was out during the day doing…stuff. BUT, it was the first night I was going to be home for dinner in weeks.

The kid and I were going to have dinner together when both Chad and I got hit up by a buddy of ours at the gym. It was his birthday and he wanted us to go meet up with him in Koreatown.

While he did mention it previously, I don’t think people realize how much planning a parent – especially a single parent – needs to be social.

Him: I am having a small get together at Let’s Meat at 7:30 for my bday. Not really sure if I need to get a reservation for a Sunday night but lemme know so I can get a headcount.
Chad: Crap, you mentioned this yesterday. I’m hesitant to say yes because it’ll be clutch for me.
Him: One of you have to make it otherwise I will be unhappy.
Chad: Logan, this is your moment to become a hero.
Me: Wait, today? I don’t have a sitter. Dammit, I love KBBQ!
Him: I’ll let this one slide since you guys have been running the gym so well.
Me: Please, this was a non-vite – I woulda come had I gotten an earlier heads up, you rat bastard.

It’s just as well. I’m becoming a fatty-fat-fat.

Her: We’re right by you.
Me: Jesus Christ. I need lead time, lady. LEAD TIME!
Her: You’re no fun, Logan.
Me: With enough lead time, lady, I’m a goddamn blast.

Location: earlier today, asking her if she liked KBBQ
Mood: plump
Music: You’re something that I can’t forget (Spotify)
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Thinking the kid and I are awesome

Trying to simplify

Since we’re talking about parenting, right after I wrote the last entry, read about a dad in a helicopter, bear hugging his daughter as the helicopter went down.

The daughter was the only survivor. He used his own body as a cushion for her.

Him: Holy shit.
Me: Right?
Him: I see you doing something like that, Logan.
Me: Jesus Christ, let’s hope we never find out.
Him: Honestly, if women knew what kind of dad you were, they would beat your your door down.
Me: How do I tell people I’m a good dad?
Him: (laughing) Easy, just show them the kid.

I’m much more careful about who I introduce to him, though.

There was one blond, hazel-eyed girl who was one of the most dispassionately attractive women I ever dated.

But I kept my emotional distance from her because she made it clear that she too “didn’t mind” that I had a kid and definitely didn’t want any of her own.

Female friend: I think she’d meet the kid and fall in love with him. Everyone does.
Me: I can’t take that chance.
Her: Wait, so that’s it?
Me: Pretty much. 

Even when I was in the height of my dating frenzy in my 30s, the paramount thing that I was looking for was someone that would be a good mother.

Ideally, someone that was also brilliant and hot as blazes was a close second but being a good mother came first. Because being a good mother/parent subsumes most of the other stuff I’m looking for.

Hot as blazes not withstanding (brilliant is subsumed under “good parent”).

And just like then, I let a lot of really great women go in the hopes of getting someone awesome – that thinks the kid and I are awesome too.

Figure that’s worth waiting for. Everything else is just wasting time. Besides, I did it once before.

Plus, I actually have two acquaintances that are going through divorces right now because they married people that are not good mothers. Full-stop.

Both are pretty gutted about the whole thing – met one of the wives as well and thought she was pretty nice but we all have our three lives.

Him: I swear, she uses him as leverage against me and that’s all he’s worth to her.
Me: Are you sure you’re not exaggerating at all?
Him: I wish I was. I think maybe if the kid was white, it would be different…
Me: Holy crap, I didn’t even think about that!
Him: Yeah. Once her family got involved, it was over.
Me: (nodding) Oh man, I’ve been there before. If the family’s against you, you got zero chance.

Life is so complex these days. I wish there was some way to simplify it. Or maybe it’s me that making it so.

Him: Can I sit next to you?
Me: Sure. Why?
Him: (climbing up onto sofa) Cause you’re my papa!
Me: Well, alllrrriiight!

And now we switch pensive thoughts for some extreme violence: The above is Chad and me breaking down a little show called Squid Games.

Definitely don’t watch if you haven’t seen it yet since it’s chock fulla spoilers.

Man, did we have fun shooting that episode…

Location: on a couch with some homemade ramen and the kid
Mood: forgetful but happy
Music: they told me I don’t need to worry (Spotify)
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Who are you?

Not as long as you need me

Pac: You already told me this.
Me: I did? Sorry, I’m forgetting a ton of things.
Him: What is wrong with you?
Me: Well, insomnia, a possible concussion, lots of pharmaceuticals and general feelings of pain and loss. I’m actively trying to forget things and people and sometimes other things get caught up.
Him: Great, now I feel bad for saying anything.

Recently made a channel on YouTube for Paxibellum and got a call from one of the producers of Scenic Fights. Evidently, I did a number of things he wasn’t happy about but mainly…I did it twice.

Him: …AND you uploaded the videos twice to each channel!
Me: I did it in my insomnia phase so I’ll take them down. Sorry.

Evidently, Sleepy Logan’s back. It also appears that he’s on a health food kick because there are half-a-dozen avocados, and two large containers of salads in my fridge that I have zero recollection of getting.

MIL: I bought toys for him. You told me you got them and put them away.
Me: Mom, I hid them so well, that I forget everything about them.

Chad’s been telling me to get an MRI and I really struggled with whether or not to do it but I ultimately decided that there’s nothing to be done.

Let’s say, arguendo, that I do have a concussion, what is there to do but wait and see how everything shakes out?

Plus, I’ve been to every fucking brain MRI joint in this goddamn city. I know what they all smell and sound like. I will literally walk in the door and projectile vomit.

Chad also thinks I should get one on my wrist, shoulder, and neck since all three are pretty messed up. Those I’m still considering.

The wrist one bothers me the most because, who/what am I if I can’t hold a sword again? Because, in my head, I’m a swordsman.

That’s how I define myself to myself.

I’m living in waking dreams again; remembering things from possible pasts again.

Him: You know the difference between the devil and a demon?
Me: No, tell me.
Him: The devil is a creation of god himself. He exists because god allows him to exist. But a demon is a god. It’s what the Judeo-Christians called any old god that existed prior to their god. So that’s why the devil looks like Pan, an old Roman god.
Me: So you believe in god?
Him: I believe God is an asshole. He has nothing to do with me, and I have nothing to do with him.

Always found it somewhat poetic that demons are our old gods. The things we used to worship in the past, torment us in the present.

Speaking of torment, both the kid and I getting nightmares for some reason.

Him: Sorry to wake you. I’m worried there are snakes in my room.
Me: Dude, there are no snakes in Manhattan. If you’re gonna worry about something, worry about flooding, which is an actual issue.
Him: (eyes widening in horror) We might flood again!?
Me: (fuuuuuuuuuccckkk…)

In any case, before Alison, my old gods were various pharmaceuticals and late night excursions. But she became my new god and my old gods faded away.

But I lost her and found other new gods. Then I lost those new gods as well

I honestly wonder if I made one up completely or if she was real. Told you once that my insomnia means that I can even remember things that never happened, people that never existed.

Coupled with a possible concussion, I’m lucky I remember my own name these days. And my old gods/demons are back as if they never left, even though the devil has.

Then again, I have one shiny new god I adore in the form of a tiny human.

Him: Halloween was last week! You mean, “See them for Thanksgiving!?”
Me: I said, “Halloween?”
Him: Yes! You’re being silly, papa!
Me: So, I am. It’s time for bed.
Him: (quietly) Don’t go. Please. I’m scared.
Me: What are you afraid of?
Him: I don’t know. (thinking) What if you’re not here when I wake up?
Me: Why would you think that?
Him: [People leave].
Me: Not me. I won’t leave you. Not as long as you need me.

Location: home with the kid and Sleepy Logan
Mood: fuzzy
Music: I really wanna know, who the fuck are you? (Spotify)
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Tooth Fairy Logan

Achievement unlocked

Was brushing the kid’s teeth the other night when I reached down and noticed that his new teeth were growing behind his baby teeth instead of underneath.

So, late Sunday night, I contacted his dentist and set up an emergency morning procedure.

It was stressful. All this happened on the anniversary of Alison’s passing so I was already rough and this didn’t help.

Still, within 12 hours of finding this out, I had a procedure scheduled. I pride myself on getting shit done.

He was blissfully unaware Monday morning so, when it was around time for us to walk out the door for school, he said, “Why haven’t you started making lunch? It’s almost time to go!”

That’s when I told him we were going to the dentist.

He was sad and upset but only for literally a minute. In some ways, he’s what I always wished I was, like a reed – bending at bad news but then springing right back to normal.

Honestly, the whole experience could not’ve gone better. The dentist was a pro and the kid was a doll. 30 minutes later, it was all over.

Me: You get a burger for lunch and ice cream for dessert tonight.
Him: Yay! Will the Tooth Fairy come?
Me: I think so!
Him: (thinking) Does she come every night to check? How does she know when someone loses a tooth?

This kid’s really too smart for me to handle.

This is him counting his “money” – from the dentist – after everything was over and done with.

Note that he was high as a kite on laughing gas and that’s a story for another day.

Every year Mouse would come spend time with me on the 24th but she’s gone now.

But Chad was kind enough to show up to check in on me. He ended rolling with both me and the kid.

Thank goodness for the good souls, yeah?

The night was interesting.

Spent a solid 15 minutes trying to get into his room without waking him up and finding the teeth under his pillow.*

Once I found them, I bent over to pick up the crisp two dollars I lay on the floor and my knee made this insanely loud popping sound. I froze for a solid 90 seconds as he tossed around.

I would not make for a good burglar.

Anywho, he didn’t wake up and I managed to slip the two dollars near his pillow – didn’t want to chance getting this far and waking him up by slipping the bills underneath his pillow.

Level unlocked: Tooth Fairy.

Like everything else, it was bittersweet. This woulda been something fun and sweet to share it with, instead, it was just me and my bum knee.

OK, and Chad…I get why people look at us funny.

But the boy’s ok, and that’s all that really matters.

Him: (next morning) Papa, papa, the Tooth Fairy came! I got two dollars!
Me: Great! I get 10%.
Him: I thought she didn’t give me anything but I found the dollars next to the bed.
Me: You gotta believe in the system, kid.

*As an aside, whose bright idea was it to have this whole tooth fairy thing UNDER the pillow of a sleeping child?

If I manage to take over the world someday, that’s gonna be one of the things I’ll have to change.

That, world peace, and basic universal healthcare.

Location: earlier this week, my office, of all places
Mood: empty
Music: be okay, be okay, be okay (Spotify)
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Memories of a chocolate teapot

Seeing the world but once

Me: What’s wrong?
Him: Annie doesn’t want to play with me. Can we go?
Me: OK, let’s go to another playground.

I’ve noticed something interesting about the kids that my son is closest to – they’re all hapas like him.

Dunno if this is some subconscious thing or because there are so many hapas running around the Upper West Side.

This lady named Louise Glueck once said, “We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.”

I couldn’t agree with that statement more. I think that, by the time we’re 14 or so, we know the broad contours of what we like and we don’t like.

For example, there was this little girl named Christine that I used to hang out with all the time growing up. We were both maybe six or seven, way before any real rational emotion was possible, but all I knew was that I loved hanging out with her.

She was blond with coloured eyes. Just like Alison.

I tell my friends to always be careful that they aren’t controlled by their 14 year-old impulses. But sometimes, you can’t help it – I’m no different.

In any case, the way I look at it, I have nine years to shape this kid’s perception of the world and I feel I’m already running outta time.

As much as possible, I try to have him the see the world for what it is – both the good and the bad – rather than what someone else wants him to see, what’s for sale.

The things he values now, he’ll value the rest of his life so I try for him to value things that are innately valuable. Those things that cannot be taken from you, like skills and kindness.

Because, in some way, we’re all prisoners of our 14 year-old selves.

Him: Isn’t that cool?
Me: It’s about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
Him: (laughing) What does that mean?
Me: Think about it, kid. It’ll come to you.

Then again, he may just be fine.

After all, he’s not just my kid, he’s Alison’s too. And maybe he won’t be quite as lonely as I was, growing up.

Me: Are you ok that Annie didn’t want to play with you?
Him: (nodding) I’ll meet someone else. (later) This is Sandy, papa, she lives on West 74th.
Me: (laughing) Hello Sandy who lives on West 74th. Why don’t you two play and I’ll watch your scooters?

Location: earlier today, watching some scooters by some stone elephants
Mood: hopeful
Music: All you got to do is blink your eyes and the years go by like that (Spotify)
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The middle place

Clearly, that’s me

I bought my son an instrument because he promised that he’d practice it if I got it for him.

Me: How’s the instrument playing going? Well or not well?
Him: The middle place.

I believe I’ve been tricked.

Still, it’s hard to be too mad at him. He has a way with words – like a 65 year-old Italian man.

Him: What’s for dinner?
Me: Grilled Thai-lime pork and sweet potatoes.
Him: That smells lovely. Thank you for making all the food.

Although he’s probably had his fill with me as well.

Him: I was dreaming…
Me: (interrupting) The past-tense of “to dream” is “dreamt.” Unless you’re speaking about a past-imperfect where…
Him: (rolls eyes, interrupts) In any case…
Me: (shrugging) OK, that’s a valid response.

He’s still a kid, though, which makes me happy.

Case-in-point, I stopped by a friend’s place with the kid for a play date for him, the other day.

Before I knew it, we were watching a play starring the kids and killing 1.5 bottles of wine (the adults).

Her: You brought Moscato? That’s what my mother who’s a 70 retiree drinks.
Me: Clearly, that’s me.

And then everything went down with my uncle. Here’s the governor of NJ saying a few kind words about him specifically…

…as well as a nice article written in the local paper.

Like I always say, thank goodness for the good souls.

MJ: What’re you doing Lo Lo? I’m in Central Park near ya.
Me: I’m with the kiddo but you’re welcome to stop by. You have to wear a mask if you do, just FYI. Although I suppose you had it so that’s probably not even necessary for us here.
Him: I’ll come say hi.

Location: in front of my door with a half-gallon of eggshell white
Mood: distracted
Music: I know I always break your heart(Spotify)

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Bright-line rules

Life is easier when decisions are made for you

Him: Regular shipping is free but it’ll take 7-12 days to get to you.
Me: What about 2-day shipping?
Him: That’ll cost as much as the sled.
Me: OK, I’ll take that, please.
Him: Are you sure? You might get it as soon as five days.
Me: I’m sure. Thank you.

Ended up ordering a sled via express mail; it was an astronomical sum to pay for a $10 slab of plastic. But I promised the kid I’d get him one before all the snow melted so I had to keep my promise.

When I was nearly broke after college, my roommate Joe asked me to deliver an envelope to someone and made me promise that I would. I did and ended up losing it.

Him: There was $3,500 in it, Logan!
Me: I’ll get it back to you by tomorrow.
Him: (shakes head) You’re gonna get me $3,500 tomorrow? How?
Me: I’ll find a way.

And I did.

The hows and whys are a wholly different story, but I kept my word.

Handed him an envelope the very next day with $3,500 in it in 1998, when $3,500 meant something.

Ate tuna fish for about a year afterward and I was known as the guy in law school that always had a can of tuna fish in his bag.

Still can’t really eat tuna fish all that much.

I think this is all because of that story about Apollo and his son I told you about a while back. I remember reading that and wanting to be a person of my word, no matter the cost. I would draw the line at my son’s life, but up to that…

Years ago, Rain – who argued with me as much as anyone – got drunk once and told everyone that if he had one call in jail in Panama, he would call me. Because he knew that, if I told him I’d take care of it, it’d be taken care of.

Your reputation is your brand and I try to stay on-brand as much as possible, because it defines me to everyone else, but also because it defines me to me.

Our reputations bring us places.

It also just makes life a lot easier because my rules are bright lines that tell me the choice that I have to make. I have no say in the matter.

After Alison died, I was a shell of the person I once was but my rules helped me operate when I could only operate at fractional capacity.

If that.

Spent the past few days making up for the day I didn’t have the sled. Today, while we were out, I met a young Asian father with two kids sledding down the hill on a pizza box.

Me: Hey, man, do you wanna borrow my sled? I was in your exact situation just a few days ago.
Him: (walking towards me) Oh, that’s really kind of you. (leaning in, lowering voice) Actually, I’m going to decline because…
Me: (interrupting) COVID?
Him: (laughing, whispering) Ah, yeah, no. I just don’t want them to know how good a real sled is because I don’t think I can get one for them.
Me: (nodding) I get it.
Him: Thanks though, you’re the only one that offered.
Me: No problem. Lemme know if you change your mind.

He didn’t. As for the kiddo, after a few rough sled rides, I insisted that he wear a helmet – also courtesy of Cappy.

Eventually, he got the hang of everything.

Me: Do you like your sled?
Son: I love it! Thank you.
Me: You’re welcome. I always keep my promises. Remember that, kid. Be someone that people can trust.
Him: OK, papa!

Location: earlier today, this perfect hill
Mood: much better
Music: Thought I couldn’t live without you(Spotify)

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That was unexpected

Frivolous conversation

This cartoonist named Mell Lazarus once said that The secret of dealing successfully with a child is not to be its parent.

Dunno about that but I do think treating a child like a child has it’s limitations.

When I went to see my son, I brought him a marble run game that the ABFF got him. He ended up just loving it.

It was actually really nice to just sit there and play with him, figuring out this this puzzle together.

He’s more and more verbal every time I see him.

Him: (when the toy got jammed for the first time) That was unexpected.
Me: (laughing to mother-in-law) Whoa, where did he pick that up from?
MIL: You, Logan!

People find it funny that I don’t talk to him like a child, but I remember hating being talked to like a child, even when I was a child. Found it patronizing.

Plus, everything I’ve read about child development indicates that children pick up things far better than one might imagine.

So, I talk to him the way I might talk to someone my age(ish).

Then again, I’m starting to remember being made fun of for how I talked when I was a kid. Still, all the things that made me weird then, I think kinda make me interesting as an adult. I think.

Besides, I’m not really one for frivolous conversation.

Me: For what it’s worth, I told you that I couldn’t be trusted in affairs of the heart. I told you that I wasn’t your person.
Contestant: I hoped.
Me: I’m sorry. That’s where you went wrong.

By the time you read this entry, I should have 100,000 views on that video.

I needed a better fitting shirt and to slouch less. Blargh.

Anywho, here’s a song for your Labour Day weekend. And subscribe to my playlist if you want more tunes.

Podcast Version
Location: earlier this morning, waving goodbye to my favourite little human
Mood: pained
Music: in the living room, turn it up until we feel it boom (Spotify)
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Sweet Dreams

I’m sorry

Luciano’s mom reached out to me over the weekend and filled me in on some more information.

I didn’t know what to say. What does one say, but, “I’m sorry?”

The truth is, you want to say, “I’m sorry that the world is so fucked up and people like Luciano and Alison are gone but shit-heads like Trump and his progeny still exist. There’s no God and if there is one, he’s a giant asshole and he can go fuck himself.”

But in the end, all you can ever say is, “I’m sorry,” and hope it’s enough.

Speaking of which…

Me: I guess I should take these letters off.
Chad: Do you want me to help?
Me: No. I’ll do it myself. Just…distract me will you?
Him: Sure, I’ll do a dance. (thinking) You should take a picture.
Me: (starting the process) I already did, but thanks.
Him: I’m sorry, Logan.
Me: (nodding)

When Alison moved in, she wanted to paint the boy’s room but I convinced her not to. It was too much trouble, I said. We had already agreed on painting the master bedroom and living room so she relented on what was the guest room.

I kept the paint cans for those two rooms, 11 years after Alison and I got them.

It’s hard letting things go.

The boy’s room, though, was painted by a lovely girl name Abbie in September of 2004, almost exactly 16 years ago. That was the last time it was painted. Abbie painted it when patterns were all the rage but it now made the room look dated.

To the point that, when Mouse lived here, she also asked to paint it, and I said no again. This time for a slightly different reason.

You see, Alison and I put up these stickers that read, “Sweet Dreams.” It was just a random idea that Alison had and she surprised me with the lettering. I still remember her, pregnant and carefully measuring and adjusting the words so that they would be perfect. Which they were – perfectly balanced and exactly in the center of the crib.

That was her in a nutshell.

Now, she always had meant for them to be temporary but once she died, I couldn’t bear the thought of taking them down.

But the boy’s growing up. And he should have a room that he can have for the next 16 years if he wanted, not the room Abbie wanted 16 years ago.

So, this past Sunday, I took the lettering down with Chad. Then Mouse came by and the three of us painted the whole thing.

While we were waiting for it to dry, we went out for food.

Me: Are you two tired of Vietnamese yet?
Them: Nope, not yet.

We ran into an old friend of mine while we were out but I suppose that’s an entry for another time.

Then we came back and we marveled at the room.

Neither of them had ever painted before. It wasn’t perfect but we were happy with it afterward – we didn’t do any of the molding as I figured we’d do that some other time.

But it was good. I think Alison would have liked it.

Hopefully, the boy will.

Podcast Version
Location: earlier today, at 84th, asking for Ariel
Mood: much better
Music: Hold your head up, keep your head up, (Spotify)
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