The other night I had a dream. I walked by Chloe's room and from the other side of her closed door I heard a conversation she was having with Cole. "So the long and short of it is, there is no Daddy. Despite there being some evidence of his existence - even though some of that evidence is pretty compelling - you have to understand that Daddy really doesn't exist."
I don't know what set her off. It could have been anything really - she'd been skulking around the house all morning like a wounded bear. I tried to talk to her and she growled at me. I tried to hug her and she pushed me away. Chloe was in a bad mood, and she was determined to stay that way.
Chloe and Cole were discussing one of Cole's boo-boos. Chloe said he'd heal up and his boo-boo would fall off. While not scientifically accurate, I was amazed (and amused) at her understanding of the human body's ability to heal.
The time I dread most came around again, and I found myself at the doctor's office awaiting vaccination shots for Chloe.
We started our little adventure through the neighborhood with Chloe sitting in the wagon and me pulling it. Things quickly went downhill from there.
A couple of years ago, I read a story in this very newspaper about a man named Glen Mitchell. He lived in Jacksonville, Fla., and had a 13-year-old son named Jeff. One day Jeff was shot and killed by four boys while he was waiting for Glen to pick him up from school. One of the boys, Ellis Curry, later pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and spent 12 years in prison.
We were feeding the ducks at a local park. We'd gotten bread and walked down to the water's edge. I gave Chloe and Cole some bread, then stood by and watched them.
It was, without a doubt, the scariest moment of my life. One recent Saturday afternoon, Chloe and Cole asked for an apple after lunch. I went into the kitchen and cut an apple into eight pieces, then gave four of them to Chloe and four of them to Cole.
Shortly after Cole was born, we got concerned. He was always crying and could never seem to get comfortable.
Each person has their own challenges in life.
The other day Chloe was trying to snap her fingers. She'd seen me do it before, and she was doing a very good job of mimicking my actions.
Chloe's learned a four-letter word. I don't know where or from whom she learned it, but oh, how I wish I could find out.
Chloe and Cole are special. Obviously I think they are, or I wouldn't bore you with stories about them week after week. But they're special for another reason: they're hybrids. Half of one thing, half of another, all of neither.
Cole doesn't like open doors. Whenever he finds one at the house he rushes to close it, regardless of which side of it he's on. That led to a little trouble for him (and me) the other day.
A couple of days ago, I fixed Chloe and Cole lunch. They ate it all, which was a good bit of food.
When Amy came home, she got the mail out of the mailbox and laid it on the couch when she walked in the door.
Page 1 of 1