Last night I paid a visit to Bro and the Phews. Phew #2 is only four months old but has grown to the size of a Labrador Retriever, with a similar vocabulary but fortunately less drool. Holding him in my lap has become quite a challenge, even with the benefit of steroids. I may need to market him on an infomercial: “Burn off your buns with the big baby workout!”
Phew #1 also refuses to let go of his Cars McQueen PJ’s despite the long sleeves ending at his elbows. He is two years old, comes up to my waist and is on pace to be taller than me by January. Like my brother he got the tall genes in my family, but fortunately I am not bitter. Short people live longer anyway.
“Guess what Unca Steve!” he said. “We carved pumpkins!”
“Oh ‘we’ did?” asked worn out grumpy Bro slouched in the couch.
“Did you help carve the pumpkins?” Bro asked.
“No.” replied Phew #1.
“Did you help pick out the pattern?” Bro asked.
“No.” replied Phew #1.
“Did you even watch me carve the pumpkins?” Bro asked.
“No.” replied Phew #1.
Obviously Bro was frustrated, but in that moment I could see Phew #1 fifteen years from now, captain of the varsity basketball team, taking credit for all of some poor nerd’s work on a team science project.
It made me very happy.