Dumbfounded

My son and I sometimes go to this one coffeehouse. One of the owners performs children's songs a few times a week. She has generated quite a following among area preschoolers, toddlers and their parents.

We were there this morning after a couple weeks voluntary quarantine. (See "The Bucket") We saw many of the regulars — friends and acquaintances, kids and grown-up's.

One mom in particular (who I sometimes talk to, and whose kids Benjamin sometimes plays with there) always has her three boys in tow: aged approximately 4, 2 and 6 months. The whole operation — as with anyone with more than two very young children — is quite a wonder to me. Just getting Benjamin and myself going anywhere is project enough. Add another and that's an endurance test (as I know from when I gladly cared for a friend's baby son a couple days a week for a while), and one I shall retake — happily — this fall. But three under school age? There should be medals. "The Purple Back" perhaps.

Well, anyway, so the three boys were there today — not at a special performance or a big party, mind you — just another Wednesday morning at the coffeehouse. All in matching clothes. Nice sweaters. Khaki trousers. Brown loafers. All alike. Please tell me they were all going to the opera afterwards.

I just sat there thinking: how it is even possible that even two of the sweaters are clean on the same day, much less all three outfits being laundered, and readily locatable all before nine in the morning?

Well, that mom's the first nominee for the "Purple Back".

I was just glad to have gotten to one place on time (see ...Time) with not a single item of Benjamin's clothing on backwards or on the wrong appendage.