Calfgrit4 made a very cute Halloween card for me. It’s made of orange construction paper, and has various Halloween stickers scattered about the cover. On the back, he drew a spider web, and placed a spider sticker at the center.

Inside he wrote a sweet note. Or so I imagine. He asked Cowgrit how to spell “love,” so she spelled it out with the letters on our refrigerator door. You can see in the picture that he traced the “L”. The other three letters he apparently did freehand.

The rest of the note, we’re not sure about. At the bottom of the note, he signed his name (which I cut from the image, here). He was very proud when he presented it to me, and I cherish it.

When he wasn’t looking at me, I whispered to Cowgrit, “What’s it say?” She didn’t know.

So she handed the open card back to Calfgrit4 and said to him, “Tell Daddy what you wrote in the card.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t read.”

Bullgrit

Both our boys went as clone troopers (Star Wars) for Halloween this year. They picked out the costumes two or three weeks ago, and Calfgrit4 has worn his several times since then. To be precise, they were both Captain Rex of the clone troopers.

The difference between a clone trooper and a stormtrooper is subtle to those not familiar with Star Wars. At one point during our trick-or-treat outing, a family passed us in the street. The young boy (probably 7 years old) of the group was dressed as a stormtrooper. His parents commented on the Calvesgrit, “Hey, look, they’re stormtroopers, too.” The young boy corrected them, “No, they’re clone troopers.”

Since the past couple of weeks have been rather hectic, I didn’t plan for any costume or make-up for this year. But at the last minute before heading out for the neighborhood tour, I rummaged through my box-o’-masks and pulled out an old thing. I also pulled out the skeletal gloves that go with it.

We were quite a sight: two clone troopers escorting this skeletal ghoul. We were usually holding hands as we walked about. Calfgrit7 told many people, “That’s my dad,” as we moved about the families on the block.

At one point, we got in the van and drove to Calfgri7’s best friend’s neighborhood. On the way there and on the way back, I played from the passenger seat, leaning out the window and laughing maniacally at walkers in the street.

Some people laughed, some people screamed, and I had a load of fun. “I love doing this when I’m incognito,” I said to Cowgrit.

“Well, just remember that everyone can see who I am,” she replied.

Bullgrit

This passed Sunday morning Cowgrit and I woke up just before 7:00. We were both immediately surprised. This never happens. Calfgrit4 always wakes up before 6:00.

We laid there for a few minutes, knowing the still and quiet morning time was too good to last much longer. By 7:15, Cowgrit was starting to worry about Calfgrit4. “Is he sick?” she wondered. “I think we should check on him.”

“I’ll wake him up,” I said. I rolled over and snuggled up to Cowgrit. On cue, the boys’ bedroom door opened, and the still and quiet time was over. They have a sense for that kind of thing.

Bullgrit

Our first Calfgrit was a week and a half over due. He was supposed to come on Christmas Eve, but came 4 days into the new year. His first day in the world was normal, but his second day started down a very worrisome path.

The nurses had given Cowgrit and me a break from newborn duty over night and when they wheeled his little bassinet into Cowgrit’s room, we were ready for our first full day of parenthood. After a few minutes, though, we noticed the tiny little guy was breathing strangely. He was breathing very fast.

I didn’t know if that was normal or not for a newborn, but it just looked wrong. Cowgrit (with newborn and pediatric medical experience) knew it was, indeed, very wrong. We called the nurses to our room.

Over the next few hours, the nurses and a doctor watched and examined Calfgrit. They didn’t know what the problem was. The doctor talked with us and gave some very disturbing possibilities. We called our parents to tell them what was happening, and our mothers came rushing back to us.

In the next couple of days, Cowgrit was released from the hospital, but Calfgrit was staying in the newborn intensive care. He had a dozen wires and tubes attached to him — it was a heart-breaking thing to see. He was a big (8 pounds 11 ounces), healthy-looking baby, especially compared to the couple of premies also in the intensive care unit. But he was very sick, and for the first few days we didn’t know why. He just was breathing very rapidly.

We were allowed to visit him as often and as long as we wanted. Cowgrit was at the hospital for several hours every day, and I was there for a couple or so hours after work every day. Eventually, they found the problem on an x-ray.

When we were both in the intensive care unit, the doctor showed us the x-ray and explained the problem. He had pneumonia. “Thank God,” we both said.

I know the other parents in the nursery thought we were terrible for having that reaction, and we laugh at it now. But of all the potential problems we were told the fast breathing could be, pneumonia was the least troublesome — it was completely curable, and would have no lasting effects on Calfgrit.

After seven days in intensive care, Calfgrit came home with us for the first time. He was completely healthy and we were so very happy.

Bullgrit