Silly Goose

My dad has bursitis.
It doesn’t hurt, but it has created a giant squishy knob on his right elbow.
Berg is fascinated by this.
Whenever he touches it, Grandpa honks like a goose.
I love my dad.

To Grandmother's house we go ...

Bicycles?
Check
Fishing poles?
Check
Henry Doorly Zoo pass?
Check

The boys and I are off to Grandma and Grandpa’s house tomorrow. They live on the Elkhorn River, just outside of Waterloo, Nebraska. This is roughly a 10-hour drive from my house.

The boys are very excited. I am currently having a hard time seeing beyond the packing and the driving, which is why I am writing, rather than packing.

Kurt has to work.

I picture him having a relaxing cup of coffee with the dogs in a quiet house every morning, listening to NPR and taking his time getting ready for work. He won’t have to change his pants (twice) because someone hugged him with peanut-buttery hands. He won’t have to hunt for the car keys that were used to start up Kai’s crane, or the work badge that somehow found its way under the seat of Retro Rocket.

He’ll get in some of those long runs he needs to begin training for the Marine Corp Marathon next fall.

He’ll take his bike to work, and ride fast up the hills without the weight of a trailer or a wife to slow him down.

He’ll have time to read the mail; time to finish a project ... and a conversation ... and a meal ... without interruption.

Kurt won’t be woken in the middle of the night by Kai, who is scared and had a nightmare and needs to put his icy feet on Daddy’s tummy so he can fall back asleep.

He won’t be woken before dawn by Berg, who has already told one story and is midway through the second before his audience is fully awake and is it OK if he already got out the peanut butter and some pickles for breakfast?

We’re going to be gone for two weeks.

Kurt is going to be miserable.

Who says they should be seen and not heard?

People often look at my sons and say “Wow, you have your hands full.”

Often, as in all the time.

This is not meant as a compliment.

I used to move on quickly after these comments, chagrined. No more.

Yesterday, in Home Depot, Berg asked an employee in the garden department if he could plant carrot seeds directly in the ground, or if he had to start them indoors. The employee said he could plant them in the ground, and Berg asked if it was still OK if we lived in the mountains where it was colder.

The employee didn’t know.

Kai interrupted Berg to ask the employee if deer eat carrots.

Followed quickly with:

“Do deer eat spiders?”
“Do deer eat rabbits?”
“Do deer eat children?”

Followed by Berg telling Kai that he is ridiculous. And telling the employee: “Don’t mind my brother. He’s three.”

At which point the employee said to me, “Wow, you have your hands full.”

“Yes,” I said. “My boys are awesome.”

When I take my sons out in public, I explain to them carefully what we are going to do before we go do it. Most of the time, they comply with enthusiasm. They do not break the merchandise, or wrestle in the aisles, or trip old ladies trying to cross the street.

They DO ask a lot of questions:

“Why are artichokes so pokey?”
“Why are artichokes named after the dog?”
“When can we get another dog?”
“Why is Daddy allergic to cats?”
“Why am I allergic to cow’s milk?”
“Do cows like to be milked?”
“Would you like to have cows?”
“Would you like to have goats?”
“What if we had a goat farm?”
“Do you know how to make goat cheese?”
“Would I be able to eat goat cheese?”
“Do goats eat artichokes?”

Apparently, neither of my sons came with a volume control. But if loud and inquisitive are the worst they throw out, I’ll take two hands full, please.