I am leaving tomorrow for a business trip that will take me out of state for the next four days. This will be the first time I have been gone from Luca and only the second time away from Paolo. Sam's parents are traveling here to help out in my absence because they are kind, but also because Sam and I have not told them that their grandsons have turned to the dark side.
Paolo is a good kind of crazy: gymnastic, imaginative, a voracious reader and an unstoppable talker. In all seriousness, if his very life depended on his silence, he would not reach age seven. Much of what he says is funny and interesting, but the boy has no internal filter. Whatever he is thinking comes right out. He wonders aloud about approaching activities, toy acquisitions, or snacks again and again, despite having full information. Still, he is hands-down my favorite son right now.
Luca has the devil in him. He is on the verge of getting kicked out of daycare for biting other children. My son is a biter. I fought the label until I saw the little Damien in action. He has been biting the bejesus out of his own brother. Apart from the biting, he is generally batshit crazy, which is not a good crazy. Like his older brother, he climbs on tables, leaps off couches and tears around the house at blinding speed. But, oh, he can be sweet. When he pats my face wearing an angelic smile, I am convinced he is too cute to be human. Then the wooden toy he is holding in his other hand connects with my skull, and I remember that he is, in fact, not human at all.
And yet, I am already missing my little lunatics. I am also already feeling very, very sorry for their grandparents. I had better put away this sadness and enjoy my time apart because, after four motherless days with Crazy 1 and Crazy 2, I will never be allowed to leave again.