Right at this moment, William is singing to me, in the only key he knows, the only tune he knows, and pretty much at the only volume he knows how. There aren’t any words, just pure, unrefined, emotion. I sense discomfort, bewilderment, hunger (maybe?), with a hint of, ‘it was better in my waterball!’ It couldn’t be the diaper, cause I just changed him. I trust he’ll thank me for letting him sing this way, he’s on his way to becoming an accomplished singer, great lungs, powerful emotion, forceful energy, everything that a good singer should have.
Sharole and Mum are off duty tonight, probably flirting with boys and getting their drinks paid for. They’ve headed down to the hockey (pronounced HA-ki) game, to see what one looks like these days. I’m pretty sure one of these happened while they were there:
And I just spent way too much time looking for videos with the proper pronunciation of the word hockey…
So, in their absence, I decided to make myself useful.
One of our lightbulbs exploded. Think of the Death Star + Luke Skywalker, but on a much smaller scale. Actually if you think of the model and not the space station, the scale was probably only 1:200 rather than 1:several trillion. Luckily it was relatively contained by pleasantly diffused glass panels and brushed nickel. Only a few fragments of melted glass actually struck the carefully varnished dining table below. And no fragments actually fell on human skin, since no one was home (we assume).
Stage one was picking the melted fragments out of the varnish, and sweeping bits of glass from the table and floor.
Several weeks go by. We have a baby. Sharole and her mother attend a hockey game.
I decided it was time to confront the remaining fragments and the charred, melted wires and put in another bulb. I was very careful. I held a bowl under the light while I slid one of the small diffused glass panes out and released the remaining sprinkles. I also successfully got all the contents of the bowl to the garbage can. The diffused glass pane, however, could not hold its pieces that long at let some tumble to the floor right next to the garbage. Darn you, gravity!!
I returned to the light and peered upwards where a bulb of glass used to be. This was the kind of light bulb that had to be inserted via protruding wires, but those protrusions were still secure in the socket. I was faced with protrusions that should never have tasted air again. I knew my needlenose were needed. I reached up and grabbed the first wire, and easily extracted it and placed it in my hand. I had a little more trouble getting the second wire, the first grab got me a short shower of shattered glass bits. Thankfully the baby was turned the other way.
I should explain, the baby was in his carseat, on the table, since that seemed the safest place for him earlier this evening, before I started on my bulb replacement project. The previous threat was a predator in her natural habitat, the older sister. The new threat (glittery falling glass) was mitigated with the help of the sun visor, and I can safely say the closest any one sprinkle came was way further than 1/2 an inch.
I got the other wire, threw the bits in the trash, and dustbusted (dustbustered?) all glass bits from the table and from around the trash can.
The rest was easy. I cut out the new bulb from its non-earth friendly protective packaging and, holding it between pointer and tall man, reached up and slipped the bulb in and then put the pleasantly diffused glass in its place using thumbkin, pointer, tall man, and ring man. Pinky was there for moral support and as a backup if needed, not unlike Rudy Ruettiger and the Notre Dame football team.