May 24 2010
One morning last week I was hustling about — running late as usual — pawing through shoes in my closet, upending the house in search of my cell phone. Martin was handling “cram” mode with the kids: cramming breakfast down their throats, shoving socks and shoes on their feet, and pushing them out the door.
As I bolted up and down the stairs, I caught snippets of conversation — about the baby and whether it would be a boy or a girl. And that’s when I heard Martin sternly say, “No Cayden, this is the last baby. There’s isn’t going to be another one. This is it.”
When I came down the stairs, I couldn’t help but ask the Boy, “Do you want a brother or a sister?”
He grinned and triumphantly displayed his best Nixon-victory pose. “I want two more brothers and two more sisters,” he announced.
As if such an order were normal. Like selecting donuts from the bakery.
Yea, 4 more kids. I’ll get right on that.
Clearly, Cayden has not tapped his jealousy gene.
And he thinks we’re Catholic.
I tried to set him straight, as Martin did. Boy or girl, Hoffa’s it!