Humming happily, but it doesn't transcribe very well.

Whoa now it's kind of an intense humming. Probably because of the driving drumbeat of this song, "Hide" by Little May.

Pain in my left knee returning. Ben O. gave some resistance bands that I should be using to stretch my knee but I keep forgetting. Need to set up some kind of environmental reminder. Pain is not enough of a reminder, apparently.

Munching on a gingerbread pig. My mom is a big fan of them and I snagged one from her pantry last night. I think they're okay. It's not my preferred pastry, but it's portable and I'm hungry so it has that going for it.

I had a dream that I went to a magical breakfast restaurant that had every breakfast food ever. It was so spectacular, I went up to one of the staff and said "This place is amazing! How come I've never heard of it?"

The guy smiled wistfully and said "Everyone comes here, but no one ever remembers us." I looked at his name tag. It read "Dan."

I grinned, because that's the same name of one of my oldest friends. "I'll remember you, Dan!"

And apparently I did. I forgot the name of the magical restaurant, though.

* * * *

Kelly and I went to the "Odysea" Aquarium. It was neat. It's been around for a couple of years at least but we'd never been. I'm glad we did. Makes me yearn for the sea. But that's next month.

I'm not sure if listening to all this wistful music is making me more sad or more happy. Not that they're mutually exclusive, I mean overall. I feel strangely balanced. I've been thinking about Luis, about his life and his death. The pain and the loss I still feel is the cost of loving him, and I pay it gladly. To not have known him, to have nothing in that space where he now resides, is anathema to me.

It's a weight to carry, and every step is a reminder. I'd rather remember.

When will I ever learn/ I lost you in the storm
Breaking up our tiny raft/ Scattering our florm*

*small hard chocolate candy with helpful tips on rafting printed inside the wrapper

This weekend Kelly and I went out with Amy's to celebrate her birthday. We had dinner at OBON Sushi Bar. The ramen was excellent. Afterwards, we went to Undertow afterward for tiki drinks. We had a great time.

I slept fitfully last night. Dreamed of the classics: being late to class, having car trouble. I awoke ready to face discomfort and despair. Linear time is a hassle, but it's the only way the jokes can make you laugh.

In the earliest days of caring for Ender and Remy, they were only able to crawl. And climb the baby gate. Ender would crawl over to the baby gate, pull himself up, and stand with his feet on the lower bar. He would be quite content up there, perched two whole inches above the world, but when he decided he wanted to get down, he wasn't able to and he would start crying until I got him down. I got tired of that pretty quick, and began to take him down immediately and tell him "No!" After a few dozen rounds of this, I concluded that it was only right for him to suffer the consequences of his actions. He'd climb the gate, hang out up there, and when he'd start crying, I wouldn't help him down right away. First I let him cry for one minute and get him down. He'd crawl around for a little bit, then decide he wanted up on that gate again. I'd let him cry for two minutes the next time, and so on. Three minutes. Then four minutes. I thought he would crack after being stuck up there for five minutes, but he did not.
The boy was stubborn, but so was I.

The final count: 20 minutes.

His record-breaking round had exhausted him, and when I took him down and laid him upon a pile of blankets, he kept crying quietly until he fell asleep.

I hardened my heart and told myself I was doing the right thing and that the world was cruel and he'd have to learn the consequences of his actions.

The boy slept for about an hour.  Even as he slept, he'd still let out an occasional quiet sob. The boy was unconscious, yet still he suffered. How could a person learn if the suffering continues so far beyond the action?

I doubt I could have articulated it at that time, but I think that was when I made my choice. There are consequences for our actions, but the world is a flawed teacher. In order to protect them, and to train them, I would have to become those consequences.

I threw out any grand notions of how the world should be, and I accepted this burden of authority. When they did something I didn't want them to do, I would pinch their shoulders. My authority came with a caveat; I rejected any pretense of moral authority. Maybe I was right, maybe I was wrong, that could be discussed whenever they wished. In practical terms, if they did certain things, I would do certain things. Why, who knows? But they could learn to navigate this for now, and the lessons of the world would have to wait their turn. These boys were under my care, and my training, and will be until they don't need me anymore. Maybe even longer, if I'm lucky.