So Anyways

Saturday morning on the couch, I can see through the railing on the stairs two tiny feet staggering their way down, until finally dinosaur pj’s are in full view and his face emerges between the wooden posts. He sees me and has that “I just woke up” look in his eyes. So he stands there for a second, out of it. I’m looking back at him, waiting.

He breaks the silence with the perfect segue to anything, “So anyways… I’m hungry.”

This post is going to be a bunch of ‘so anyways’. I’m using it as my perfect segue to get writing again. Feel free to add that little phrase mentally while reading this.


Pax is laying in our bed and looks up at the ceiling when he notices a tiny light shining in the darkness. “Wait a minute! You can see the stars from your room?”

No, that’s the smoke detector.


Another Saturday morning and I’m up before the kids.  Pax is first downstairs and groggily walks into the living room.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked him.

“I don’t know.” he says in that exasperated tone that only a little boy can pull off. “I just went into my bed…and closed my eyes and I, and I tried to lay down for a while and…”

I stopped him before this went on for too long.


Kids are always looking for ways to stall bedtime, but a bad memory? That was a new one. I give him 1,000 points for creativity.

Pax would come downstairs, oh an hour or so after we’ve put him in bed, claiming he couldn’t remember if he ever gave us hugs and kisses. One night, after about a dozen of these nights in a row, and out of not a little frustration, I told him to give mommy two hugs and two kisses. That way, if he forgets one he’ll remember the other.

Months later, it’s turned into this sweet nightly ritual where he gives us ten, twenty, “twenty-three!” hugs and kisses and tells us before-hand how many he’ll forget and how many he’ll remember.

Still, last night he came down an hour after he gave me two hugs and told us he “forgot both“…


Bath time. I’m leaning over the side of the tub to wash Pax and I notice he’s staring at my head.

“You’re kind of old” he says flatly.


“Because you have lines in your head and you’re probably going to lose all your teeth soon and need to buy fake ones.”


It’s winter here in Cleveland which means getting the kids in the car and then scraping off the windshield. Erica called to tell me about one such event when the windshield scraper broke. (We’ve gone through three of those plastic pieces of crap already this winter.)

She got back in the car and Pax yells, “Mom. That. Was. Awesome. You are SO strong!”


“Am I growing a freckle?”

“No, that’s just frosting from your donut on your cheek.”


So anyways, thanks for reading. I hope to post here more this year. Time goes fast and I’m a forgetful guy. But I want to have a way to look back and remember all of these ‘so anyways’ moments.


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