Léo’s little smiles are nothing short of heartwarming. He buries his face in my shoulder if you look at him, hiding the first small moon of a shy, bright smile. While Max’s eyes and smiles, from the age of 3 months, were flirtatious, Léo’s seems genuine, lit also by his eyes. While the brothers are so different in coloring and morphology, the way that the use their eyes to punctuate their emotions is the same.  He’s a big boy, prone to rage when he hasn’t eaten, or when something is taken away. Usually by Max. A fast crawler, he’s our new mopper. I do vacuum several times a day, one big job in the morning, and lots of little jobs with the handheld during the day.  He is enthusiastic. An enthusiastic eater. Enthusiastic in the bathtub. Enthusiastic crawler. Enthusiastic disputer.  Enthusiastic rambler. An enthusiastic, deep, hearty and contagious laugher, bringing music to my ears, especially in harmony with Max.  And let’s not forget, an Enthusiastic crier, too.  In addition to the eyes, the boys share a spirit.    One of the fun things about children is surely the simple conversations we hold, the context in which they present topics, and especially their timing.  Max is quite the talker, adding “too” to almost everything as an afterthought with a nod of confirmation.  ”Mama is going to eat oatmeal.  Too.”  He’s also quite the contrarian, and that makes me want to wring his neck more often than I’d REALLY like to admit to the Internet.  ”I will not sit down to eat! Ok. How about like this? Like this? Like this?” as he shifts positions over and again.  ”No! I not coming!” “No! No bath!” But he always comes willingly after his outbursts. He always bathes willing. Eventually sits willingly.  To offset these tests of patience during the day - and I do know that he’s exercising he’s will and testing us, he lets slip some sweet words.  Too.  I heard the loud crinkle of a bag from Max’s room last night, my ghetto alarm indicating that he’d rolled off of his bed.  There’s plenty of cushioning, so I wasn’t concerned that he’d hurt himself; more than he would cry in surprise if he woke and realized what happened.  Too late. There were no cries, but he met me in the hallway rubbing his eyes as he came to find me as he often does at night. I scooped him up, asking, “Did you fall from your bed?” Now back in bed, and already rolling over toward the wall, he sleepily replied, “Yeah. I fall and Mama come to get Maxou. Too. “Mama’s always going to come get Maxou,” I told the dark room.

Léo’s little smiles are nothing short of heartwarming. He buries his face in my shoulder if you look at him, hiding the first small moon of a shy, bright smile. While Max’s eyes and smiles, from the age of 3 months, were flirtatious, Léo’s seems genuine, lit also by his eyes. While the brothers are so different in coloring and morphology, the way that the use their eyes to punctuate their emotions is the same.  He’s a big boy, prone to rage when he hasn’t eaten, or when something is taken away. Usually by Max. A fast crawler, he’s our new mopper. I do vacuum several times a day, one big job in the morning, and lots of little jobs with the handheld during the day.  He is enthusiastic. An enthusiastic eater. Enthusiastic in the bathtub. Enthusiastic crawler. Enthusiastic disputer.  Enthusiastic rambler. An enthusiastic, deep, hearty and contagious laugher, bringing music to my ears, especially in harmony with Max.  And let’s not forget, an Enthusiastic crier, too.  In addition to the eyes, the boys share a spirit.    One of the fun things about children is surely the simple conversations we hold, the context in which they present topics, and especially their timing.  Max is quite the talker, adding “too” to almost everything as an afterthought with a nod of confirmation.  ”Mama is going to eat oatmeal.  Too.”  He’s also quite the contrarian, and that makes me want to wring his neck more often than I’d REALLY like to admit to the Internet.  ”I will not sit down to eat! Ok. How about like this? Like this? Like this?” as he shifts positions over and again.  ”No! I not coming!” “No! No bath!” But he always comes willingly after his outbursts. He always bathes willing. Eventually sits willingly.  To offset these tests of patience during the day - and I do know that he’s exercising he’s will and testing us, he lets slip some sweet words.  Too.  I heard the loud crinkle of a bag from Max’s room last night, my ghetto alarm indicating that he’d rolled off of his bed.  There’s plenty of cushioning, so I wasn’t concerned that he’d hurt himself; more than he would cry in surprise if he woke and realized what happened.  Too late. There were no cries, but he met me in the hallway rubbing his eyes as he came to find me as he often does at night. I scooped him up, asking, “Did you fall from your bed?” Now back in bed, and already rolling over toward the wall, he sleepily replied, “Yeah. I fall and Mama come to get Maxou. Too. “Mama’s always going to come get Maxou,” I told the dark room.

I’ll be missing the weddings of two of my favorite people this month.  You know the ones; we don’t speak to often, but they’re always in my thoughts. Really. Always.  The friends that bring a smile that make you send off that little note.  ”I was thinking of you and wondered what you’re up to.”  I didn’t know that one, a somewhat eccentric, brilliant, successful, and quiet artist, a friend who’s a few years older, whom I met when I was 18 years old, was in a relationship until I received a request for our address. How special that made me feel, this far away, to be on the list of someone whose list is sure to be very, very short.  I was not surprised that I didn’t know. He’s just that kind of guy. Our friendship, like it always has been since those days, is ours.  We just are, and he allows me to just be in the small world that is our friendship.  

Another friend, in contrast, is the one whose wedding promises to be a huge affair; a party that will outdo all parties with a large network of eclectic friends drawn by sincerity, openness, genuine and tangible love for life and display of love for those in his world. How flattering, too, to be included in this circle because he loves you, or he doesn’t. Simply.  We met long ago, in our early twenties, in what he describes as ‘clandestine’ ways. Someone who is true and loyal to himself and his loved ones, has finally found his woman. Finally.  And their love is….tangible.  They are beautiful.  They electrify.  They pop. You’d feel it if you saw it.

I feel it in my stomach, the disappointment of missing these celebrations, grand in two very different ways. Two eclectic men of the world who have been elusive in love. Or perhaps it’s that love has eluded them while selecting for them the perfect moment to present their perfect woman.

*     *     *     *     *

 One of my best friends is going through what must be a difficult time with her little boy. She handles it with the grace of ….. a mother who loves her child.  What is stronger than this?  With the patience of moss on a tree, a soft and resilient protective layer over rough patches.  I want be there to give her support, hugs and laughs. Lots of laughs and comraderie.  I want to be there to love her child, to have him grow with my own boys.  To pay her back for everything that she has unknowingly given me, that has made me a better person.  She’s beautiful, for her demeanor, her grace, and her ability to laugh. Always the laughs. I see the faces and hear the voices that she makes, as she animates anecdotes of something that has happened. 

I’m in a long distance relationships with so many loved and admired good friends, with my history and past. They are my distant present.  

Boiling hot water rolled off the counter and onto a small part of my belly this morning, and I jumped back in surprise and pain. I went for the ice pack when the stinging started a minute later, and the husband said not to, which I now clearmindedly dispute - now that the pain has dissipated to a mere discomfort.  At the time, though, I agreed and continued to let the heat cook my belly.  Always the quick thinker on my feet, I said to Max, “Blow on my belly, Max! It stings!”  Max responded emphatically.  “NO! It is NOT a balloon!” I wanted to give him a little hug. 

We’ve been spending some time on Skype lately, with my brothers.  I asked Max one morning, from the other side of the counter in the kitchen,”Do you want to talk to Uncle William or Uncle Chris today?”  Max asks immediately, from the living room, “Talk to them now?”I know he’s there, playing quietly, but am unsure of what he’s doing.”We can’t talk to them now. They live far away from us, in California, and they’re sleeping right now.   Do you remember where  California is?”  We had bought placemats for the boys, that have random educational bits.  The one I’m referring to is a map of the US.  I don’t hear a response from Max, so I assume that he doesn’t remember at all, and has focused all his attention on playing. I turn back to peeling potatoes, knowing that he’s playing safely, and allow myself to enjoy a quiet moment. Before I know it, he’s beside me in the kitchen, struggling a little to open a large drawer next to where I am standing.  He pulls out his stack of 6 placemats, finds the one with the map of the US, holds it incorrectly by 45 degrees - California on it’s side on top - and points to the state.”There it goes. There’s California, right there!” He hands me the placemat and returns to the living room.