Jude has been in D.C. for work since Tuesday but is coming home tonight. As always, it's been a rare treat to have the boys to myself for a couple of days. We don't get much "hang out time," where it's just the three of us, figuring things out. When we do, I try to make the most of it. I think it's good for the boys and I know it's good for me.
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As an aside, it's tough, sometimes, to leave work at the office. J.P. and Joe help me with that, though. Like yesterday, when I arrive home after a particular shitty day, it almost always lifts my spirits to have them there waiting on me. It's their gift to me, I think, and one they don't realize they're giving me. It's made more special by the fact that it's fleeting, as soon enough they will be teenagers, on the go, and completely disinterested in what kind of day their old man had or when he is getting home.
Today, when I sat down at a table in Bongo Java that I don't normally sit at, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia. Like stepping into a time machine, I vividly recalled a Saturday or Sunday afternoon when I sat here, probably posting on this blog, while J.P. slept beside me in the Baby Jogger. I felt a tinge - well, more than a tinge, actually - of sadness for what I have lost since that day, that time. J.P.'s early youth, my 40's and, most importantly, my relationship with my mom. In those days, I would have talked to her on the phone, laughing, joking and likely discussing the latest big story in the world of sports.
She had a tough day yesterday, but I just don't want to talk about it right now. We're getting to the point where there are fewer and fewer answers and and more and more questions.
Sometimes I want to ride the wave of nostalgia - like a dream at night I don't want to wake up from - as a means of disengaging from the stark reality of day-to-day life, especially as it relates to my mom. It's kind of like trying to hold on to the feeling of dreaminess that Frank Bascombe experiences in Richard Ford's "The Sportswriter" (one of my favorite novels and on I'm re-reading this summer) after the death of his son.
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Tuesday night, Carly, Jon and I took the boys to PM for dinner. J.P. ate sushi with me and, believe it or not, Joe tried sushi for the first time (crunchy shrimp roll). Afterwards, we threw the frisbee at Belmont U. as darkness fell, then walked home. It was a splendid evening spent with two people who are as close to being part of our family as you could possibly be without actually being blood relatives.
Last night, the boys and I walked to the 12south Tap Room, got takeout, and walked back home for dinner. We watched part of the Lakers-Celtics "30 for 30." They enjoyed it, although J.P. found some of the video clips of the violence during the civil rights movement disturbing. Then, off to bed and up this morning for "film study" on Youtube. In order, the boys selected highlights of Dominik Hasek, Alex Ovechkin, a couple of Dude Perfect videos and J.J. Watt.
Guy town indeed.
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