I just found a trail of twelve Sugarless Trident Watermellon Twist wrappers leading from the kitchen cupboard to the shut door of Michael's room. When I opened the door I couldn't see him at first. My ears were led to the bed by a loud smacking sound and intermittent giggles. I pretended, of course, that I didn't notice the squirmy lump under the covers. I chided myself out loud for not making the bed very well- for leaving lumps. As I lifted the covers the giggles had given way to a desperate belley laugh and a wet, bright pink mass shot out of his mouth, landing on my bare foot. With an agility and a speed I've witnessed in him only a handful of times in his young life he dove for the mass of goo, swooping it up and popping it quickly back into his mouth. With a breathless urgency he popped back under the covers, chewing madly and repeating over and over, "Fiveshzecondvrool! Fiveshzecondvrool!" I usually only allow him a few pieces of gum at a time, and now I'm not sure why. I have a small poster in my kitchen- How to Really Love a Child. I'm reminded when I read it of simple pleasures, like painting shoes, going to a movie theater in pajamas, finding elephants and kissing them, and realizing how important it is to be a child. I'd add a line: Let them chew giant wads of sticky bubblegum. Perhaps I'll start a list of my own.

Michael read Winnie the Pooh this morning. He found one of our favorite parts and came in to the kitchen to share. Pooh was talking to Owl. "Because my spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places." I thought of my parenting. I've read and heard so much about how to parent in a way that meets my children's needs and helps them grow up with a passable amount of skills and esteem to function in the real world. I think it's helped. I have good ideas about parenting. Good skills. I've collected wisdom, but it's Wobbly. Pooh Bear is light about his Wobbles; I suppose I can learn to lighten up about mine.

It's 10:30. I just took Michael to pee. I do this every night before I go to bed and once again at the crack of dawn. The "wee" hours. Pun intended. If I take him twice a night he still might pee in his pull-up but it won't usually soak through to the bed. He doesn't feel good about waking up wet but he's a deep sleeper. I've been frustrated with him for it and at times it's shown. I regret these times. I regret a lot of reactions I've had as a parent- times when I haven't come from a place of gratitude and love. I think I'm a better parent in my head sometimes, when he's not around. My goal is to minimize the regrets and remember what really matters. A lofty goal.
He doesn't wake up when I take him to pee. He did at first but lately he lets me do all the work. I think Ron got him in the habit- Ron carries him through the whole process. I try to get him to walk- I think it's a good habit and he goes right back to sleep anyway. Now when I walk with him he's limp. Actually, one part usually isn't limp so it takes a minute or so to do the deed. If the little soldier's standing at attention it can get messy. I listen carefully for the sound of the splash so I know what's been hit. Tonight he hit the usual targets- the back of the toilet seat and the floor to his right. He also veered farther west and nailed a copy of what is enlightenment? the magazine for evolutionaries. The cover article is "Constructing The New Man." It's late for me, and perhaps that's why I found it mildly amusing. I look for humor where I can these days. It's all I can do.

I was in the kitchen steaming organic zuchini from the garden. I heard a faint whimper, then a sigh from the dog.