Max-Pan Alley

Three of the few constants 'round these parts are: 1. Pancakes, 2. Music and 3. Reading. Today the seemingly disparate topics came together and the result was, of course, high comedy.

Lately, Max has been turning pretty much anything he picks up into a guitar. This happened after Aurelio was over and, while Some Girls was cranked on the stereo, he jumped from couch to couch, air guitar-ing, while Max (as usual) watched in awe. So now, Max'll pick up any toy: a pillow; a stick, start strumming it and say, "Guitar! Max playing guitar!"

Just before the time Miles was to arrive, we got a book for Max about being a big brother. One of the key pages in the book, titled appropriately enough "I'm a Big Brother Now!", talks about how the baby is "too little to walk, too little to talk, to little to eat pizza, apples or ice cream". Establishing how cool it is to be big and a brother because, duh, you can do these things.

So today, after a hearty breakfast of five bites of pancake, the family was chillin' on the living room floor. Miles sucking on a lego, Mom watching, Max being random while Dad was cleaning up the kitchen (a little and poorly).

"Dad, come in here," I hear Katie say.

I walk in and there's Max, standing in front of Miles and Mommy, holding a torn pancake to his chest, strumming away wildly.

"Max, what's the song you were singing to Miles?"

Max gives the pancake a strum and belts out in his breathy, two year-old falsetto: "Miiiilllllless! Toooo liiitllle toooo waaaaalk! Tooooo liitllllle tooooooo taaaaaaalk!" (Out of breath now) "Miles! Toooo little toooo ice creeeeaaammm!"

Just when you thought it couldn't get any cuter or funnier, the boy pauses in his strumming and nonchalantly reaches down, rips off a chunk of pancake and stuffs it in his mouth.

My son. My hero, the eating musician who loves his brother.