fuss: how he is

I realize most of the words I exhale here describe what Fuss isn't (basically, like any other kids) and far fewer describe what he is.  Here are a pair of stories, one from last night and one from this morning, which may, for interested readers, illuminate a shadowy corner or two.

The Wife wasn't at her best yesterday so Fuss went on an outing with Crazy Grandma, during which Blue Buenie went missing.  Longtime readers may remember the crisis attending the loss of his original Green Buenie at Philadelphia International Airport during our trip to England a while back.  I'm fortunate to be able to say that sitting on that flight to England with Fuss crying next to me realizing I'd left his blankie at that stupid terminal play area is the most horrible feeling I've experienced as a parent.

Result, we hadn't lost another blankie....until yesterday.
Fuss was fairly nonchalant, mentioning it in passing while we were watching a show together.
But it made me feel momentarily unmoored.

Later, after books, he wanted me to say goodnight so I went in and laid down next to him in his cozy nest fashioned from his large stuffed gorilla, Peanut, and his remaining Blue Buenie, the soft flannel one with the blue satin edging.

"Fuss, I feel really bad about losing Blue Buenie.  We can go and pick you out a new one tomorrow if you want."
He fixed his sleepy, considering gaze on me.
"It's okay Dada..we can both share this buenie."  Proffering me a corner.
And few moments later, "Here's some more."
Then he was asleep.


We're both a bit under the weather, which I suspect is the root of our jagged conflicts this past week, and he's been 'sleeping in' until 8 or so.  This isn't the boon of ease you'd expect- after four plus years of ushering in the sunrise I'm indelibly programmed to spring from bed at the cock's crow.  I've been spending this free time checking orders, pulling and packing books and if he's still not up I clean the kitchen prior to heading off to work.

It's strange having mornings to myself. I can't say 'again' because prior to the advent of Fuss I was the Pol Pot of the AM, dictating an ongoing pogrom against all the insufficiently revolutionary hours prior to 10.  Then he was born and for several years clock faces ceased having any save a purely decorative function.  Eventually, and gradually, our schedule developed a highly elastic but identifiable morning with its genesis anywhere between 4-6.  And as he's grown the boundaries have migrated and solidified, from a fairly reliable 6, on to 7 and now, seemingly, 8.
I danced a cheerful bourrée on the graves of of 4, 5 and 6, but was caught by 7 and now he's left me behind.

Anyway...back to the anecdote.

This morning I woke and packed orders and did the dishes and got dressed for work.  Fuss was cuddled up in bed with the Wife who was reading from a chapter book on zombies and wanted me to join them before I left.  I settled in behind him and gave him a hug.

"Dada, are you going to be with me all day today?"
"No, I have to go to work today."
"I wish you could stay with me all day."
"I do to.  But you know what, we can be together all day tomorrow."

I was sitting there sort of holding & patting him and he was looking a bit worn out and forlorn, and then he said

"Dada...I need lots of love."
Which is so uncharacteristic the Wife and I did a double take.
"I know Fuss, me and mama will always give you lots of love."
He seemed to catch himself, and hefted an anamorphic bowling pin from the set Crazy Grandma had bought him on Blue  Buenie's terminal outing.
"I mean, *he* needs lots of love..this bowling guy does."
"Okay Fuss, we can give him lots of love too."



So, there's a  glimpse of how he is, rather than what he isn't.