February 22nd, 2007

Stolen Moment

We live a pretty cush life at the moment. This grad school thing, with all its tormented inwardness, is actually pretty sweet in terms of flexibility. I get to be my own (worst) timekeeper. And this is fantastic as far as Jack is concerned. We get to have leisurely mornings before I hit the library or head out to teach, and I’m home by 4:00 in the afternoon to spend the rest of his awake time with him.

Andy, too, has a pretty sweet gig. He has a four-day work week because his company, going all global, needs night-shift guys and has trouble finding permanent dudes to do it. So the employees are each assigned one night a week to be “on-call” in case of a big database meltdown, wherein the London office can call NYC and get tech support and Andy’s company saves the world. Andy’s night is Wednesday, so he doesn’t have to work the following day.

We think of Thursdays as our “Stolen Days” then; this day, in the middle of the week, where the three of us get to eat breakfast together and roll around in bed. Sometimes we drop Jack off at daycare and Andy and I sneak out for lunch. It feels wonderfully illicit. (Nevermind that I SHOULD be at the library. I should ALWAYS be at the library). The chance that a night guy will be hired and our Thursdays will be gone in a snap is always there, but so far so good. We’ll take it.

This morning, we had created a baracade around the edge of the bed with our bodies so that Jack, who was jumping around the bed like a frog, couldn’t leap off the edge into the abyss. He likes to stack all of our pillows up in a tower, climb up them and leap off face first. This is great fun. Andy was helping him restack the fallen tower when Jack caught a glimpse of Andy’s tattoo underneath his t-shirt.

“Ta! Too!” Jack says, pointing.

“Yes,” I say, “That’s Daddy’s tattoo!” I outline the faded ink with my finger, pointing out the shapes for Jack and giving them names. “Look! This is a blimp. And this is a tower. And do you see all the smoke?”

“Smoke!” Jack repeats, “Blimp!” Quickly losing interest, he continues rebuilding his pillows.

I look over at Andy from across the pillow tower, gesture to his tattoo, and mouth the word “LAME.”

“Oh?” he shoots back. “And you think your tattoo is the craze that’s sweeping the nation?”

Posted by: Sarah on February 22nd, 2007
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