Act 4, Scene 5: “Anthro-poo- morphic”

“I made a poo,” screams C.

Like volunteer firemen hearing the fire whistle, E and TRL drop everything and run into the bathroom to share in the glory.

“Excellent poo,” praises TRL.

“It’s a gold fish,” says E.

TRL looks a bit closer at the blondish dark poo sitting in the toilet; it does indeed look like a goldfish, it’s head aiming for the drain, it’s tail pointing up and swaying in the water.

“Nice poo fish,” says TRL. He knows he is supposed to praise the boys during this key juncture in their toilet training and Freudian development of control issues. Having poo animals adds a nice bit of creativity to the entire self-toileting/socialization process.

C leans on the flusher and the poo fish begins its long journey to the ocean.

“Bye bye,” says TRL.

“Bye bye,” chorus C and E.

“God’s speed to you, Goldie.”

Act 4, Scene 4: “William Wants a Doll ”

“C really likes his doll,” S tells TRL. S has been going through old boxes and found her Saul and Gusie dolls from her youth. The one with curly blonde string hair has been taken in by E, while C gravitates to the younger bald one, which E promptly denounced as a “bowling ball.”

“That’s nice,” replies TRL, happy that C is enjoying a doll.

The tune from Free To Be You and Me flashes through his head: “A doll, a doll, William wants a doll. A doll for William to love and hold... ” TRL loved that record as a kid, and seeing it on video with his kids has only reinforced that love. Still, was it normal for a little boy to be so into playing with a doll?

“But he started banging it against the wall,” continues S. “I asked him what he was doing. He said he was ‘giving it boo boos.”

TRL laughs, relieved. Sensitive, but not too sensitive. Everything was alright.

Act 4, Scene 3: “The Cycle of Life”

TRL and S take the boys to the Children’s Museum. And in the first room, you get to learn about animals. Cats and dogs, mainly. There are benches and cages and stuffed animals and tweezers and stethoscopes and animal adoption pages and little white coats with VET stitched over the front pocket in natty blue.

C puts on the white coat and proceeds to diligently fill out an animal adoption form, making random marks and circles where he sees fit. He then gets down to the serious business of stuffing a plush doggy into a cage better suited for a mouse. TRL sits on one of the benches, swinging his legs, and starts talking with the husband of a friend of S’s. The husband has the couple’s gurgling 5-month-old daughter bound to his chest.

“He really is going at it,” the man remarks as C leans into the puppy to get its head into the cage.

“Are you a doctor?” TRL calls to C.

“ No. A doctor for animules,” says C. “A vetnarian.”

“Excellent,” says TRL.

“They really have quite a set up,” says New Dad, taking in the real cat X-rays and play cages, the white coats and long tweezers.

“They should have the kids learn to put down the animals, too,” says TRL.

New Dad looks puzzled.

“Really teach them the cycle of life,” adds TRL helpfully.

New Dad smiles and nods. And wraps his arms protectively across his daughter. He starts backing away.

TRL continues to swing his feet, happy to be sitting down, happy that C is engaged in an activity which is safe, will keep him within sight of TRL, and will likely last for at least ten minutes. For TRL is finally beginning to understand the cycle of life himself. That he is a salmon who has reproduced, and is now swimming upstream, to die. When he can find a cool relaxing place from which to perch, like now, he is happy.

Act 4, Scene 2: “Genie is Not Magic”

A statuesque piece of plastic sits majestically in TRL’s garage. Long and tapered at the end, shiny white, waiting for transportation to the dump. Which is ironic. And not like rain on your wedding day.

It is TRL’s arch nemesis: the Diaper Genie. Repository for all things stinky, broken five weeks into C&E’s lives, necessitating an extra twist and the use of scissors to detach its shit-stained inner plastic from the container. The boys are now in underpants, and the Diaper Genie has served its usefulness. But unlike the changing table, pack-and-plays, cribs, and even the number 4 Huggies, all fine tools forging a partnership with TRL to keep C and E happy and dry, the Diaper Genie was always at odds with its mission. First, it broke. Then it stank. And it had to be constantly emptied. A function of its service, you might say, but if Genie is in a name, TRL wants to see magic. As in stinky diaper goes in, and disappears. Forever. No cutting, no prying, no brown-smeared plastic to wrestle with. TRL wants David Crapperfield. Harry Poo-dini. Now you see (and smell) it, now you don’t. But the Genie was all name, no magic. So it is with great excitement that TRL banishes it to the garage. And next stop, the dump. The last one for this Genie.

Act 4, Scene 1: “Missed Ya”

Well, TRL fell into the Parent Crevice. That deep seemingly bottomless pit of “to do” lists, doctor appointments, grocery shopping, cooking, feeding, bathing, and working. He lay dazed and confused at the near bottom, scrapped and demoralized, cut-up and lonely. But he took out his Parenting Ice Ax – beer, wine, valium, obsessive exercise, Snickers and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, whatever gets you by – and inched his way up, and back into the light. Back into domestic near-balance. Time probably also helped, because C and E are now almost 3 years-old and are in “big boy underwear” and “big boy beds.” Gone are the diapers (“not diapers, these are pull-ups” says C) and gone are the cribs (“cribs are for babies,” says E). So maybe things have gotten easier, or maybe TRL has just pulled himself out of one crevice only to slide around in the open for a while before skidding into a brand new drop.