Cauliflower, anyone?

The events below took place on Thursday, January 20, 2006.

You could say that dinner last night was eventful. Yes, you could say that. Patsy arrived around 4:30 with Jacob. He came in with a smile on his face. As always, the first thing out of his little mouth was, "Where's Herman". He finds Herman irresistible and the feeling is mutual. The next thing he said was, "Bonnie, can I take a bath, can I take a bath, pleeeeease. I said, please. Can I take one?" He loves our tub because it's enormous and deep. I guess it's like a swimming pool to him. I told him he would have to wait for Herman because I was in the middle of making dinner. He accepted that.

Then Bek arrived and soon we were sitting at the table about to enjoy the meal but Herman had not arrived yet. He had to work late. I called to see how late he was going to be and while I was talking to him Jacob said to Patsy, "Herman is my best friend." I wish Herman could have heard him say it.

He was restless and couldn't decide where he wanted to sit and ended up climbing up in my lap. He seemed to like the garlicy cauliflower the best and just as he finished tasting some of mine he sneezed all over the remaining cauliflower on my plate, and I don't mean some tiny, delicate little sneeze. I'm talking serious DNA, all over my cauliflower. Lovely. I love the child but I was not going to eat that. Eventually he moved around to his own seat and plate. When I removed the cauliflower from my plate to his he didn't like that at all. He decided it must be removed from his plate immediately and in the process he dropped it in my drink. Bek was mortified and got a fresh drink for me once we all stopped laughing.

When Herman arrived Jacob was instantly happy again. Herman went to the sink as Jacob's eyes followed every move he made. As he watched Herman wash his hands he asked, "I'm your best friend, Herman?" Herman said, "Yes, Jacob, you're my best friend", and he meant it.

Later he received his bath in the big tub. Herman always fills it to the top and the water comes to his mid chest. He likes to pretend he's swimming. When he's ready to get out I always wrap him in a fresh, fluffy towel and stand him on the sink. He looks in the mirror and says "Bye, Jacob", and I take him in the bedroom and throw him on the bed. Then he hides under the covers and we pretend we can't find him. After Herman and I make heroic and noisy efforts to find him, calling his name over and over, and asking each other, "Where's Jacob", we finally find him and he rewards us with the kind of full bodied, deep belly laughs you can only produce when your a child. Once we cross the path into adulthood nothing in life is ever that funny again . The closest brush we can ever have with that kind of joy is through a child. That's Jacob's gift to us. We'll never give him anything nearly as valuable in return. Can't be done.