The professor was staying up late preparing for an exhibit on Wednesday, so I went to bed. Because the cherubs are making me tired these days, what with summoning me to their chambers at all hours of the night….to find their pacifiers and cover them with blankets.
Jason came upstairs just before 10 to bid me good night. He started talking about some architect. It morphed into a discussion about what it takes to become famous in the world of architecture. I believe shortness may have been one of the criteria. It was past ten at this point and my initial dream of being asleep by 9.30 was fading fast, as the professor showed no sign of terminating the conversation and returning to his work.
So I turned off the light on my nightstand, thinking he might get the hint.
‘Well,’ he rubbed his hands together, ‘I can see that you’re really interested in this discussion. So how about I go downstairs and make us some coffee and then we can stay up all night and talk.’
I burst out laughing and bid him good night.
It’s good to see that he’s retaining his sense of humor in his old age. Because he is old. Another year older today. Now he comes home from his weekly soccer games smelling of muscle ointment. ‘Did you lose again?’ I ask each time. Because his orange team is on an epic streak…of defeat.
And then he holds his arms aloft and proudly declares: ‘our record is untarnished…by victory.’
It pleases me that he doesn’t take himself too seriously.
But the older we get, the lamer the birthdays get, it seems. ‘Did you get anything exciting for your birthday?’ his mom asked him over the phone. ‘Well, I got to sleep in,’ he replied.
As if sleeping until nine is the mid-thirties’ version of a really thoughtful birthday present.
It’s true, I entertained the troops so that he could rest his head until 9am. I made scones too. The Gort grabbed one off the cooling rack and took it upstairs, pressing it into his father’s hand. ‘Here’s a scone for you.’ (And a very random green marker drawing…of a triangle with legs?)
‘What do you want for your birthday dinner,’ I asked him. ‘Butternut squash ravioli, a good salad and creme brulee,’ he ordered. Apparently people in their mid-thirties have particular tastes.
So in lieu of a Porsche this year, you’re getting squash.
Happy Birthday professor hotness. I promise I’ll get you a (miniature) Porsche next year.