blip

"1 - 2 - 3 - 4," he counts as he moves his marker.

"Babe, what did you roll?"

"Four plus two. Six."

"And you went...."

"Four."

"Babe, four plus two."

"Oh!" He moves his marker two more spaces.

We are playing Sum Swamp, a simple addition and subtraction game that includes three dice - two with numbers and one with pluses and minuses. Our seven year old and five year old don't notice when their father misses the simple math. I look at him with what I feel is a trademark expression of shock. It is not pity and I hope Karl doesn't think it is. It is simply what I look like when I am absolutely mystified by what his brain is doing.

As I am typing he wonders aloud if he fed the dogs. I don't know. He checks their empty bowls as I pause Top Shot. He did not feed them. I don't know why I need to keep track of these moments. Actually, that's a lie. I need to keep track of these moments because sometimes he is so utterly normal that people ask me what we're getting paid for. Sometimes he is so utterly normal that I feel like I must be going mad.

Yesterday as we were driving to the lake, he told me he hopes that when it comes down to it, I have enough money to hire someone to care for him.

"Luckily," I said, "you'll probably still remember how to wipe your butt. I can do everything else."

Today another little brain blip happened. I don't even remember what is was he forgot, but I said "brain damage" and he rolled his eyes.

"You know, I have to... I'm sorry. If you don't laugh, you cry." I told him.

"It's okay to cry," he said. Then he started singing "It's All Right to Cry" from Free to Be You and Me, which, of course, made me laugh.