Mammo

Had a very late night this last Tuesday - went grocery shopping for two households after work, dropped off stuff in QC before getting back to Valle at almost 11 pm, and then spent a few more hours making full use of all four stove burners and cooking several meals' worth of freeze-able food (hey, that's what personal caterers do, after all). Even though I'd finished by 1 am, I couldn't get to sleep, so I watched some Lifestyle TV until that channel went to bed; had a short conversation with David when he came in, and he too had to sign off...

I finally got some sleep at a little past 3, only to be jarred awake at around 5 am by an early bird text. And, again, at the unholy hour of 6:30, by the smiling face of one of the most handsome men in the world.

Little men, anyway - Antoine was awake, and he wanted Titang Honey to be too, so he could show off his little ocean coloring book. What a way to greet the early rainy morning - off the couch to plug in his "mammo! mammo!" (Ice Age daw) DVD and then haul him up to where Titang had previously been in dreamland (her "bed" being the best TV seat in the house). Because he's not three yet and still not fully expressive in the verbal arena, he gets by with grunts, a whole lot of hand-pulling in the direction he wants things done, and, when thoroughly exasperated, a full-throated "mammo!" (trans.: you silly idiot, can't you comprehend that I want the antedeluvian wooly mammoth on screen, and I want him now!).

Hmph. The thanks you get for spending the night shopping and slaving away to cook his food, only to be roused way too early in the morning to be at his beck and call and to stupidly giggle on cue and scratch the itch on his grubby little foot... actually, I wouldn't have it any other way (pushover).

And suddenly, seriously for the first time in my life, I want one of my own. Even "mammo!" at 6 a.m. would be well worth it.