That doesn’t mean that we don’t wonder what causes it. Is it nightmares? All that pizza we feed him right at bedtime? The thought of a tax and spend conservative being one malignant melanoma away from running the country, or of Bobby Julich retiring?
If it’s that last item, 3B can keep screaming, since Julich did retire this week. Ever since he first saw the Tour of California video (it’s OK, open it in another tab and leave it playing…it’s nice background music) that I put together after watching the prologue with Brother #2, 3B has been fascinated by Bobby Julich, who shows up briefly in the middle of the video.
I’ve tried to distract him by pointing out George Hincapie, domestique for all of Lance’s TdF victories; Oscar Friere, three-time world champion; and even Fabian Cancellara, he of the beautiful Swiss hair, who’s also a two-time world champion and Olympic gold medalist, but 3B only has eyes for Bobby Julich…or, as he says, “Bobby Dulich.”
However, it appears that 3B will now have someone new(ish) to cheer for next year.
Speaking of dream teams of fast men, I got to spend my morning and evening with Team Boy Bradstein, since Mama was off early to all day meetings that went late into the night. That left 3B and Barky and me to reenact Lord of the Flies, although 3B is much more likely to lead a revival of Lord of the Dance.
And that is how I ended up running down the sidewalk in my work clothes, sweating in the sultry evening air, dragging Barky, pushing 3B in his stroller as he munched his way through dinner, listening to 3B chant, “Want to go fast. Want to go so fast. Want to go fast.” wondering all the while how Mama does this so gracefully on a daily basis. And yet, I know exactly how, because every day is like a koan: draining and rejuvenating.
It’s a dream job that no position in any organization could ever match: physically and mentally demanding, ever changing and all important. Every night I slog down the hall and throw myself down onto the beachhead of our bed, where I lay like a lump for too few too short hours until I again awake, energized by thoughts of again spending the day with the boys and Mama, ready to chase the sun down to the horizon at dawn if that’s what the day calls for.
That said, it’s good that this dream job is rejuvenating, because those 4 a.m. clammy hands, cold sweat, heart racing, adrenal glands pumping harder than Hans and Franz screams aren’t rejuvenating at all. In fact, I think my beard used to be some color other than gray before they started.