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Earlier that evening, Nate had pooped in his underwear in the playroom (he's been experimenting with underwear), making for a difficult and nasty clean up. He seemed unbothered. Shana shook her head as she relayed the two sequence of events. "Ugh," was all I could say. She sipped her drink and handed it to me.
Mack, not himself lately due to slight illness, quickly descended into sobs, moans and squirms. I stuffed a few chips into my mouth and carried Mack out of the restaurant.
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I pictured a young Tom Cruise moving around the table, blasting the cue ball but leaving himself in perfect position for the next shot. It's in the way that you use it! sang Clapton, his gritty guitar taking lead now.
I began picking up Nate's animals lying all over the carpet and couch. Shana fixed a salad for us; spaghetti and meatballs percolated on the stove. I collected the trucks and cars and put them in their bin. Mack began crying and I gave him Tylenol. Nate announced he was "peeing" in his diaper. "Do you want to go to the potty?" Shana asked with positive energy. "No," said Nate.
Shana and I exchanged looks, both of us smiling funny smiles.
Clapton's tune faded out.
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