Stevie Wonder

Saw Eastern Promises Saturday night, and quite glad I did. Plenty o'violence, but no backward arm or leg fractures, which make me cringe. I still haven't seen the Joe Thiesmann nastiness, and never will.

Last sick real-life injury I saw was the one on a Thursday ESPN college football game, Marshall and maybe East Carolina, not sure. Marshall receiver ran full stride into a cart that was just out of bounds behind the end zone. I happened to look up from working at just the 'right' time. It was shin-credible, and much easier seeing it that way than knowing what's coming. Like pulling off that band-aid nice and quick.

The movie featured prominently a baby, and got me wondering about having another. There's always an undercurrent of 'one more' around here, because Carrie loves babies and I still have some names I want to use. Spencer, Sebastian, Cameron, Trevor, Oliver, Duncan, Preston, Olivia, Hazel, Noelle.

Babies are alright, but they really come into their own when you can wrestle with them--their limbs are long enough for some quality moves, and they're old enough to enjoy being tossed around. This goes for both genders, though Maggie at almost-4 has reached the age that we both think a hug and an eskimo kiss is more natural and befitting a princess-intern. Darcy, though, she's all about piling on and Gramby rolls. Gavin still thinks his pin the other day was skill, but I was doggin' it.

As for Connor, there's not enough open, non-hardwood room for he and I, unfortunately, anymore. Occasionally, I'll get him to tap out, but it's usually an ambush, and I have to use my 1-2 best quick-strike tactics or we'll knock someone else or something over. He's going to hit 6-foot-2, 6-3 I think--his dad is 6-1, and his brother Zack, an Air Force air-traffic controller, is 6-5.

Anyway, about the time a baby can be shown who's the boss around here, competitively, is also when they're really hitting their cute zone. Babbling, laughing, easy to carry by the hair--you parent readers will know what I mean.

Twenty times a day I think I'd love to have the characteristics of this age--2, 3, maybe 4--last longer. Nineteen times a day is the number of screams and buzz-kills because of a cracker given to a sibling without me following protocol or because some folks still settle their differences with their teeth.

I kid because I care, about the length of my marriage. If they didn't take up space or cost money, then yeah, let's have 10 more, you know? They are the future and reflection of ourselves and, um, help me out here...