Act 7, Scene 1: “Magna Cum Loudly”

TRL comes to a magnificent and overwhelming realization: because the boys turned four, he now has eight years of child-rearing experience. That’s double college time. From his four years of college, TRL’s knowledge gain can be distilled as such: women love sex but you need to be bold to find out, David Letterman while mind altered is as it should be, existentialism sucks, life is balance management, and life after college is indeed a downhill road (dips and rises, to be sure, but the long view shows sloping: kudos to college roommate for pointing this out with smug knowing upon graduation). Oh, and hope does indeed spring eternal.

Eight years of child rearing has yielded: never get in the way of a boy and his desire to pee, child care is 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent hyperventilation/indoctrination/salmon-swimming-upstream-in-support-of-the-next-generation/occasional-salvation/staring-at-the-TV-in-dead-tired-can’t-move-disbelief-at-the-depth-of-exhaustion-mental-and-physical-contemplation-of-your-body’s-ruination. Still, those kids are mighty cute, and they say the darndest things.

Act 6, Scene 12: "Little People Drinkies and Droll Conversation"

C and E celebrated their fourth birthdays over the weekend. A blow out bash for 20 of their closest friends. Superhero Training Camp was the theme (Spiderman (C) and Superman (E) are the boys' alter egos these days (TRL is, predictably, Exhausted Man, with occasional Disgruntled Man making appearances. S is maintaining her Super Woman status)).

The kids filed into the party room, and before the real heart of the party could begin – superhero dancing lead by a party person/dance teacher – the kids had some time to burn. It was like cocktail hour before the host calls dinnertime. S had wisely distributed coloring pages and crayons on tables, and TRL observed some of the kids, including C and E, running around like mad. But a good portion had made right for the crayons, like a partyhound entering a room and making a beeline for the bar. And TRL realized: coloring is cocktails for the preschool set.

Act 6, Scene 11: “The Vagaries of Memory”

It is said that a woman forgets the pain of childbirth – that the body is wired to not dwell on pain – so that she will get pregnant again. Instead, she has an emotional memory of holding her child for the first time, and lots of times to come. TRL senses that the opposite is true with four-year-olds. Because when people ask him how things are, how are the kids, his brain immediately dredges up C and E screaming and crying in the morning because they both want to sit at the same seat at the breakfast table. Or the “you are a bad daddy” that C shares when he doesn’t get something he wants. Or the timeouts, the timeouts for leaving a timeout, and then a timeout for the exact same infraction 15 minutes later. No wonder the criminal justice system is filled with repeat offenders.

But today TRL catches himself during his morning routine. Shaving, brushing teeth, getting ready for work. Because he is thinking about C & E, and can only focus on their bright smiles when they put on their brand new raincoats for the first time this morning. C has blue, E yellow. The have zippers, but also snaps to keep everything extra dry, and the boys insist on the full protection before walking with S out into the rain to go to daycare. They pose for a picture for S, and wrap their hands into each other’s, and smile proudly. It is that joy of expression, simple joy of ownership, pride at having a functional new thing, a smile for their mommy, holding each other’s hands, TRL stepping back so S could take the picture. This little nuclear family moment and the easy joy inherent in C and E’s happiness that TRL remembers this morning.

Act 6, Scene 10: “Your Little Boy”

It is pouring out, and C and E and TRL gaze out the upstairs window, watching the thick lines of rain hit the trees and rooftops of neighboring buildings and the pavement below.

C turns to TRL. “Happy birthday,” says TRL. “My little boy is four.”

“Will I be your little boy when I am seven?” asks C.

“Yes.”

“Will I be your little boy when I am 20?”

“Yes, sweetheart. You will always be my little boy, no matter how old you are.”

C pauses. And then, “I love you, Daddy.”