Tacos for Breakfast

This morning I was sitting with my nine year old son in our living room, in our big red chair, him on the huge oversized armrest, me in the cushioned part, watching Wimbledon tennis on ESPN2.

Suddenly he announces, “I have a taste for … tacos”.

It was just after 8 o’clock.

Then we laughed.  And for a few seconds, life stood still, and it was good.  It was one of those silly episodes from my life, and his, our life together, that seem disposable, but are in fact the glue that holds people together, the canvas we write our favorite memories on.

Word has gotten around in this household:  apparently, I’m a sucker for a silly kid, and somehow I have THREE of them; not sure how that happened, except that I love to laugh with my kids, and they all seem to learn that early on, and so they make me laugh.  Huh.  What is THAT about?

Being silly just to get Daddy to laugh?  Who could imagine such a thing?  Clearly, a riddle for another day.

But he wasn’t just being silly; he actually wanted tacos at 8 in the morning.  Which is still a little silly.  Not completely, though.  That actually sounds kind of good, to be frank.

Maybe tomorrow morning.

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