Brotherly love

I got a bit misty the other day because I had to take the Blues Clues decals down from the walls of our toy closet. I doubt anyone had even noticed they were still there in recent years, but after emptying the closet, my mind filled with memories of my baby boy, who is now ten. How many hours had Edison played with his little notebook, pretending to find clues and shaking his little diapered can to those crazy songs?

He loved that show. His first FIVE birthdays had Blues Clues themes. He had a little thinking chair, and even before he could speak, he would pantomime Steve’s moves over and over, imagining all the clues he was finding in his head and writing them down in his Handy Dandy Notebook. It was a great show. I think it taught him kindness, or perhaps reinforced it, as it did his inquisitive nature. Even today, he loves doing puzzles, like he obsesses over that 39 Clues series, solving all the puzzles that are hidden in its pages and working with their online content as well.

This morning, I told Edison how I had felt taking those decals down, marveling at how big he is getting and noting that he has a bit of blonde stubble on his upper lip.

“I’m getting so old!” he exclaimed.

I laughed, having just passed my forty-sixth birthday, a milestone that has made me feel as though the roller coaster of my life has overcome the summit of 45 and is careening toward 50.

“Talk to me when you are forty-six,” I laughed.

Clooney, who was finishing his breakfast, chimed in at that point, an impish smile painted across his face, “Well, he’s usually farty-six.”

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