LEAVES, SLUSHIES AND A FUTURE ROCK STAR

It's Monday and Mondays are kid days. Remember the whole cult-de-sac food co-op thing? Yea, Becky cooks on Monday afternoons and I take the kids of her hands in some way.

Today, as promised, we made a bog pile of leaves outside this morning and jumped in them. Twice. Then the spider showed up. Party over.

So we moved the party to the car. We played Gresham's mix CD, a disc I made for him full of his favorite songs. We played it loudly. Very loudly. Windows open. Me and my three kid posse dancing beyond our race's supposed potential. Maxima bouncing to the beats.

Then it was mac and cheese and yogurt and hot dogs for lunch. (I'm no chef. Back off.) Then the littlest person took a nap while the two oldest went to the mall with me. They brought their stash of cash saved up from birthday cards and couch cushions. We bought slushies and road a carousel and a few overpriced slowly bobbing trucks and cars and helicopters. We watched the ferrets fight in the pet store window and made up names for the puppies. Then we rode the escalator for fun at least a dozen times.

And walked hand in hand back to the parking lot.

It began sprinkling just as the van door closed. The spent little people nodded off in the back seat on the long drive home.

The cousins - all four of them - came over tonight for dinner so Brian and Amy (Becky's sister and her husband) could go on a date. Tomorrow's our turn.

As bed time neared, Becky stayed at our house to get our three bathed and read to and prayed with and laid down and I took Brian's four to his house for the same. But Brian's kids didn't stink to me and, well, I'm the uncle so I can do what I want. So only the two who wanted to took a bath. The oldest read books in her room and poured her savings out on her bed so she could "figure out if I gave ten cents to the offering every week, how many weeks would it last?" (She makes us all look very unspiritual.) And the seven year-old, Phillip, and I wrote songs on the piano.

A few years ago, when he was probably five, Phillip came to one of my concerts. A few songs into it he ran to his parents and shouted, "I know what I want to do when I grow up!! I want to do that!" I'm doing my best then to train him up in the soft rock star way he should go. And he's well on his way: Long hair. A guitar. His own band. (Actually, he's on his third. Artistic differences.) Writes poetry. Sings. And tonight he learned how to make chords on the piano. We dueted while the spiritual child counted and the youngest pair bathed.

It's still raining outside. Sure to make sleeping easy. Not that I need the help. I'm tired in the best way. And this, my friend, is a perfect day.