Down-Deep-Toe and Other Overheards

Just to keep you apprised, Clara will not hold hands when she is crossing to board the van because as she puts it, She is "Buda's Mom." (Buda is her baby doll.) Clara also has some new unseen friends and one of them is "Down Deep Toe." This Down-Deep-Toe person, I would like a word with him. Apparently, he is a boy and his Mom does not make him eat nor does she hold him to any apparent ethical standards.

me:Okay, when you jumped down, all your pretzels spilled. Are you gonna get those?
CMB:No, Down-Deep-Toe is here and his mom says pretzel-spills are okay.
also
me: Clara, you can't snatch things from Calliope. She's just little.
CMB: I am saving it for Down-Deep-Toe because he needs it.


Calliope is stringing sentences now in ways that make me want to turn this blog over to her. Our conversation Sunday night:
me: Oops, Callio. Did I hurt you? Should I 'Say Sorry?'
CFB: No, Mom. APOLOGIZE.

Her exchange with Clara over a stuffed toy:
CMB: Calliope, it's mine. You know it's mine. I need it!
CFB: Cawa, you're being MEAN. You're saying it MEAN!

Poem for Benicio's Broken Wrist

Dedicated to Alice, my faithfullest reader.

You fell from the top bunk.      The railing gave out.
Two days. We didn't know.      You played Octopus tag.
You jumped off the stone      wall at school.
No one will ever tell you      that you are small. You
are larger than life. We      saw the little fissures, tiny
breaks in your bone. A      million times you fall.
A million times you get       up. Your weight, your gravity
your mass-- you defy      and miraculously and wonderfully
go on.

photo: The artistic Godfather and the patron Saint of Boys Adventure, Mr. Nate painted B's cast. Benicio requested a dragon in battle with a tiger.

Benicio True

When I was in highschool, a friend showed me the film "Cinema Paradiso." While she fell in love with the swarthy cupid-mouthed man, I fell in love with the 5 year-old boy. The film depicts the life of this Italian cinephile. And while the kiss at the end stops your heart, it is the man as a little boy that totally steals it.

You can imagine the delight for me to have given birth to our own little version of Salvatore or "Toto," as he is called. It is hard to describe this kid, he is downright mischievous, crying and tantrum-ing in Italian with this raspy, empassioned voice. It is irresistibly cute. Our Benicio is this way. No one in our family plays so hard, lives so large, runs full-throttle at life. Benicio is completely switched-on, to use my brother's phrase. He is at the center of the chase game. He leaps from the top-step. He has a collection of photos of himself suspended in air from either jumping, running or falling. When greeted by his reading buddy or older kids at school, he nods with his chin and eyebrows raised, silently. No wave or verbal greeting necessary. He's six!

Before I go on at the risk of sounding like I dream of him becoming the alpha male guy, I have to say that all this is in direct contrast to his tenderness. Benicio has my and my dad's head-shape. Also, he has our precise hand-writing. He has Geoff's Dad's fascination with flight and speed. But where he gets his profound kindness is a mystery. Common Benicio scenes: arms wrapped around Clara's waist, hoisting her up to the sink; dutifully on his belly rescuing action figures and legos from under beds and sofas; washing an apple for Calliope; splitting the last cheese stick with his brother; playing chase at church but pausing to pick up Baby Andre's pacifier.

His prayer request tonight was that he loose a tooth. He regularly asks, "Mom, tell me a story about your life that has a bad part." He is fully participating at every moment, he negotiates with us til the moment he falls asleep. The first thing in the morning, he is sneaking his Superman shirt under his oxford. But I know at breakfast, he will pour his sisters' milk and will squeeze my neck when I see him off.