Lava Island
"Okay," Gabriel says, "the carpet is lava, and this is the Island." Propped upon a pile of couch pillows, he smiles encouragingly. "Do you want to play with me?"
"After I'm done with breakfast," I promise, dividing my attention unsuccessfully among the Sunday Oregonian, a BBC Americas Tops of the Pops special, an eggs and matzah breakfast, and Gabriel's imaginative play.
"Ok. Are you done now?"
"Not yet. I'd like to read my paper, too."
"Ok, but you'll come play with me when you're done with your breakfast?"
My Sunday routine is very set. As soon as possible, I brew The Coffee, grab The Paper, and, ideally, have uninterrupted time to read leisurely through the front page, metro, business, entertainment, and comics (in that order). Interrupt at your own risk.
But Daddy-guilt has surfaced. Since four this morning, I have been taking care of Hannah in her room, splitting the shift with Janette. I slept briefly, helped Hannah through her morning medications, read to her, completed a project for work, and helped Hannah slip into her morning nap. Gabriel popped into Hannah's room often, usually to see if it was okay to play his Nintendo DS. He and I hadn't spent much time together this morning (or this weekend, for that matter).
I do want my newspaper time, but Daddy-guilt has won. I set aside my breakfast and row the boat out to Lava Island.
"We have two toys on our Island," Gabriel says, laying out the rules and pointing to a small rubber shark and his Star Tours toy, "and you have to use the boat to get to the Island."
We pretend to read the only book on the Island (TMNT) and go to sleep. I roll off the couch in my feinted sleep, waking up screaming from the lava burns. I struggle back to shore to my son's dimpled face and belly-laughter.
So we sleep again, roll off, get burned: wet, shampoo, rinse, repeat. It's funny every time. Variations are added: "What's that smell? Is something burning? Argh! My arm! My arm!" which Gabriel dutifully repeats to his own laughter (note to self: parents-teacher conference #873 originated HERE).
Gabriel counts off my lives, telling me it is okay that I fell into the lava because "you still have five lives left, Daddy." Apparently, the Lava Island lives in Nintendo DS land. Pretty soon, Gabriel is rolling off the couch, scream-laughing as he climbs back to shore. By the end of our play, Speckles, Gabriel's pink elephant, has suffered a similar fate. Although Gabriel assures me I still have lives, I extinguish myself in the lava and return to the dining room table.
Gabriel runs off to ask Mom and Hannah to join him on Lava Island, booking additional passengers for his adventure. As I refocus on the newspaper's front page and munch on some matzah, I hear the squeal of distant seagulls and the gurgle-splash of oars beating against lava.
-- Dad
