Save the Lasagna

I drove through a parking lot yesterday with a lasagna on top of my car. A man walks out of a store and waves his arms back and forth above his head while looking straight at me. I think, "What's with this crazy man? Why is he waving like that at me? Is he looking at me? Do I know him? No, no I don't know him." Then, he points and gestures to his own imaginary top of the car with his own imaginary lasagna.

This is not my first absentminded mistake involving vehicles. There's the time I unlocked my car only to proceed to lose my keys. Traffic lines up behind the car waiting for my parking spot. Oh, but before I realize my keys are missing, I can't find my cell phone which turns up conveniently behind the back right tire (as pointed out by the passenger in the car waiting for my spot). Back in the car, seat belt on, no keys. Back out of the car. Open the trunk. Look through bags. Open all four doors. Decide to no longer make eye contact with the people in the waiting car. Find keys. Quickly drive away. Another good one in recent memory is the backing over of the oh so well-researched double stroller. Diaper bag, keys, kids secure in carseats, reverse, crunch. For good measure, I put the car in drive and run over it again. This crazy, blissful, losing-my-mind life.

I say to Louie tonight, "Time for bed. Let's go upstairs." He crawls towards the stairs or more like hops, sort of like a frog, because he has something in his hand. He wants me to put whatever item he's picked out 4 or 5 steps up and when he reaches it, I am supposed to move it up again, out of reach. This is his new thing. I suspect he picked it up in physical therapy when he was learning to climb stairs. The therapist had to provide a toy incentive to get him to continue climbing. I am almost positive that he thinks that's simply how one climbs stairs. Tonight he chooses a small plastic ball. Ace is on my hip. We begin our journey, literally one very slow step at a time. Chris calls. I answer. I move the ball 3 steps up. It rolls down. Note to future self, a ball is not a good option when one needs it to stay put on a wooden step.

Chris (on his commute home with the dialies): So, I just had this moment, this huge reality check.
Me (Phone balanced on one shoulder, Ace blows raspberry in my other ear, ball bounces down one step, I put it up 4 steps): What's that?
Chris: I'm going to be 35 soon which is only 10 years away from 45.
Me (Ace is trying to wiggle out of my arms, move the ball up 4 steps): That's true. Crazy, huh?
Chris: I'm shocked. It just hit me. Maybe I should buy a convertible. Or a new boat? Kidding, kidding...
Me (Realizing he was just chatty and this could go on and on and that he probably doesn't know I'm in the middle of a stair climbing event): Boat? Good idea! Ok, see you in a few. Stairs, balls, babies, bedtime, gotta go!

Sometimes the best conversations we have are by phone. If we happen to catch each other at a time when we're both captive such as driving, waiting, well, mostly driving. Because sadly by the time Chris gets home, we make and eat dinner (we once made a noble attempt at eating together at the table but ended up being lured in to the cozy American tradition of eating by TV-light instead), clean up the kitchen and then crash out with our bodies in this somewhat-sweet-somewhat-strange contortion we get in so we can share the couch. I scratch his head. He tickles my feet. And most every night this is what we do. While the list sits on the desk. And all the plans I had for "after the kids are in bed" are shoved into the corners of my procrastinating mind. The light of the television dances around the room . My boys are sleeping, Idol is on, my lasagna is safe and all is right in the world.