It Takes Time

Sleeping arrangements have been a little unconventional around here since Yali entered our lives, and even more so since his surgery. Most nights he finds himself in our wing of the house to confirm to him for about the 222nd time that, yes, we are still here, and, no, we haven’t left him. It takes time.

So I don’t know if it was about midnight or nearer two o’clock in the morning – I was too tired to remember – but whatever it was, there was no way I was letting myself get whacked in the head one more time by the velcroed corner of one of Yali’s “wings”. I moved to the couch.

Of course, when I found myself back there again to take over the just-before-the-alarm-goes-off shift, Yali, looking for comfort, grabbed my scalp with one little brown paw. One very strong little brown paw. And promptly fell asleep. I was too tired to argue. His hand stayed clenched in my hair until the 6:15 alarm, but I think I was too asleep again to notice.

A few hours later Yali sat in his high chair at the Big House, waiting more dropper-fuls of tomato soup from the hand of his mother, while Irish and Thumper played horses with him, Ukrainian accent included. When the horse show got a little too crazy, they went back to their stable until la sopa de tomate was concluded.

One of the First Grade teachers walked up to me just before carpool.

“So what’s this about Yali drinking through his foot?”

The simple question Heidi had asked about Yali’s foot-IV from last week was apparently spreading through the school. At least to the 3rd and 1st grades. It didn’t take long.

While I made fish and broccoli for dinner, Puck and Yali amused themselves at the kitchen table. Anything Puck does is full entertainment from Yali’s point of view. So he watched – mesmerized – as Puck blew mountains of milk bubbles from a straw in a mug, inside a bowl, inside a larger bowl, until the whole thing was just bubbles.

I feed my boys the healthy stuff all the time. Maybe that’s one reason Puck has been a vegetable monster since the day he could eat real food. I certainly don’t serve them stacks of quesadillas or boxes of chocolate. So I figured it’s about time I begin to join them in these healthy plates of food instead of just staring at the disgusting mounds of cooked green things that I have prepared for them. So tonight, and for many forceful nights to come, I ate that broccoli. And I did it without gagging. Then I rewarded myself with Valentine’s Day brownies. I’ll get there…