Starbucks Increases Prices

I woke up yesterday morning having dreamed about the word obfuscate. It's a verb meaning to bewilder, stupefy or muddle. I don't remember ever using it before. So I am going to use it today.

How do I get myself into such situations? I am in the Hampden and I-25 Starbucks. I just had to use the women's bathroom. I could have waited until the men's was free, but I didn't. The women's bathroom is no different than the men's except for the wall mounted diaper changing station. How often do I find the men's bathroom lacking one of these stations? It's inevitable and it's very disgusting to make Charlie lie down on cold dirty tiles. Anyway, I heard the handle jiggle in the middle of everything. It startled me. The fear of being caught obfuscated my train of thought temporarily. I made certain to return the bathroom to the condition it was before I accosted it. Which really only meant, putting the lid back down. After I was finished, I turned the door handle, took a deep breath and entered the narrow hallway. A woman was waiting outside the door. She looked at me and then at the sign that said "WOMEN".

Quickly I glanced down and away and I said, "Everything appears to be in working order now," hoping she would mistake me for a plumber or an electrician or a woman. I stared momentarily at the poster on the wall about ethical coffee trading. The woman seemed to say "okay" as I darted by her and back to my seat.

Before resuming my blog entry, I thought about the ethics of Starbucks to continue to raise prices on me now that I am addicted to caffeine. I didn't actually buy any coffee from them today. I just borrowed the wi-fi connection, the woman's bano and an uncomfortable red upholstered high back chair next to an electrical outlet. My backpack resting behind me made sitting there tolerable. I brought my travel mug from Einstein Bros and finished the tepid dark roast I had started sipping at 7am.

This weekend I was listening to Willie Nelson driving West down Bellview. It looked like someone was holding a sheet of wax paper in front of the mountains. There was something about the way he was singing that made me want to hold on. I don't know why. Maybe it is the beckoning strain in Willie's voice. Or it could have been the lyrics to "Georgia On Mind" the way the songwriter invokes her memory with a song. Maybe it's the season. I see signs of summer trying to hold on. The sun reheats the earth after an increasingly cold night. The leaves cling to their color. In turn, trees limbs grasp for their leaves. The flowers jealously guard their failing beauty. Shadows seems to spread themselves long and thin over the earth as if to cry out "don't go" to the retreating sun.

The feeling continues to exist. On the way home from the museum today, I set the radio to a classical station. We listened to Mozart's Piano Concerto 15. It put Charlie to sleep. He was slumped over on his extra chin when I guided the car into the garage and turned off the engine. I watched him in the rearview. His eyelashes are long and dark. Charlie's brown Jack and Janie shirt with the banana and monkey patch was printed with white chalk. We hadn't even taken the stroller there. He walked all but the last fifty yards down the sidewalk to the car. He told me he was hungry today at 11:15am. I thought he'd go another forty-five minutes. He sat for a few minutes during story time. He says Desitin, not "deh-tah-tah" like he used to do. He's been trying to put his shoes on by himself. He can't yet. It frustrates him. Sometimes he even correctly says "help me" instead of "help you" when he needs it. He's making up things to pray about at bed time to keep from having to get in bed. He says "diaper" so we'll change him even when he knows it's dry.

He's no longer the infant I could lay in the vibrating Boppy seat and read aloud Dr. Seuss and Poe and watch him bat at the dangling objects overhead. He is not content to stay indoors anymore. He knows there is an outside and it is infinitely more fun. He probably also realizes if we stay inside, there is a good chance I will fall asleep watching Fox News or The Closing Bell.

I took Charlie to Walmart to look for a cheap tricycle. I think he's been capable of pedaling and steering for a while and he really shows an interest in the "Trojan" (children) across the street and all their wheeled toys. For the longest time Charlie said Trojan and I had no idea what he meant.

When I put Charlie into the hot car after leaving Walmart, he said, "Air conditioner. Turn it."

I watched him pick up alphabet flash cards with Jill yesterday. He's such a whiz. It's awfully humbling to think that Mommy and Daddy are his entire universe. What a responsibility. Just like one day he figured out how to turn a handle to open a door, not much later he figured out how to lock himself in the bathroom and get the police and fire department called. He's learning so fast. He's growing up. The day will come when he doesn't call out "Daddy" from his crib tent in the morning. He'll get too big for me to carry. I guess his he'll never get too big for me to love.

I have much on my mind. I am ready to reenter the workforce, but I feel guilty about it. Maybe guilt is not the right word. Sad. It's hard for me to think of someone else taking care of him like I have. There are things Charlie and I do together that Jill doesn't even know about. It's not that I don't have confidence in Jill. I think I'll just miss our special time together. We have our rituals. We throw balls in the house. We make breakfast together. I pull the chair into the kitchen from the dining room so Charlie can stand on it and watch me scramble eggs. I talk him through the steps.

"Get the pan out of the cabinet. Remove the butter and the carton of eggs from the refrigerator. Put the pan on the stove and light it."

I turn the burner knob to ignite, it clicks and the gas combusts.

"Fire! Hot! Don't touch!" Charlie says from the chair.

I open the egg carton.

"Egg!"

"That's right." I pinch the egg with my thumb and index finger. "Do you know what shape the egg is?"

I don't give him enough time to answer. "The egg is oval shaped. What do we need next?"

"Next." He says.

"Let's open the drawer and get the spatula."

"Spatula."

I chop an uneven wedge of butter from the stick with the corner of the spatula and tap it off into the hot frying pan. It melts quickly, sizzles and pops.

Charlie holds on to the chair back and starts to rock the chair with his body like the chipmunk toy at the playground. The painted metal chipmunk is mounted to a spring which is secured to a concrete foundation. The chair is not. The chair legs inch across the maple flooring. I envision the chair falling over.

"Sit down!" I say.

"SIT down," Charlie says.

I crack an eggshell on the rim of the frying pan and pry it apart over the center. Charlie watches it ooze out and hiss, crackle and pop when it spreads on the hot surface. The yolks sac breaks.

I slip the spatula under the edge of the cooking egg and push toward the center. I tilt the pan. The raw egg fills the void and slowly turns white.

"What do you want with your eggs?" I ask Charlie.

"Eggs," he says. He is no longer interested in what I am doing.

"What are you doing?"

"Doing."

"Are you still hungry?"

"Hungry."

"Do you want to eat?"

"Eat."

After prodding the eggs a few more times, I shut off the gas and allowed the remaining heat from the pan warm the custard like layer at the top the eggs which contains all the salmonella.

"Do want some cheese?"

"Cheese." Charlie's bare feet dangled from the chair. The big toenail he stubbed a few days ago looked black. At least he's was not going through the trash. I cannot break him of going through the trash. He has been caught and scolded so many times for rummaging through the garbage that he now employs stealth to avoid detection. But the other day I caught him again in the kitchen with a Starbucks cup. I removed the lid. It was empty, but his breath smelled like coffee.

I sprinkled shredded cheddar cheese to just dust the egg surface.

"Can you show me how you can get in your high chair all by yourself?"

"High chair. Self."

I sliced up a few grapes and placed them in a compartment on his divider plate while Charlie ran to his chair and climbed up. He wheezes and grunts when doing so. It is very dramatic. When he got onto the chair he turned around and sat down. I divided up the eggs, half for me, half for him and joined him at the table.

"Let's get your bib."

"Doggy." He only wants his bib with a monkey on it. He thinks it's a dog. He will take it over the bib with colors even if it soiled, which it happened to be.

He says,"Dir-Tee" when I put it around his neck and he says there are chunks of food in the collection pocket.

I attached the tray to his highchair.

"Let's pray."

"Pray."

He didn't wait for me to begin praying. "Dear Jesus, thank you for the food. Amen."

"Amen."