It was anexhausting week at the MUGGER household. My wife, who'd valiantly foughtoff my stomach flu and Junior's head cold, finally succumbed, probablydue to fatigue from nursing her two guys. Then, on Tuesday morning, MUGGER IIIcame into our bedroom just after midnight and announced with a stoic whisper:"Mommy, Daddy, wake up, I'm about to barf!" He didn't, butwas burning with a fever, so we gave him some Motrin and he snuggled for a mostlysleepless six or seven hours. At times, shivering with a chill, he'd huddleby the radiator, saying, "I'm cold, so I'm toasting up."
The nextnight, he arrived about the same time and we played a few Magic School Bus videos,at low volume, but after the medicine kicked in he got hyper and started chattingjust like my mother did after a martini or two. Wired. So, at 2 a.m., I gotup with him and we played with dinosaurs, watched Scooby-Doo a bunch of times,learned our ABCs on a CD-ROM and drank ginger ale. He asked if I'd be agrandpa when he was a teenager?good God, I hope not!?and said he couldn'twait to walk the streets of Manhattan by himself. Then he was jabbering abouthis birthday?he wants his party to be held at 333, so he and his friendscan have a food fight?and what kind of pet the family might acquire oncewe move to a new apartment down the block in Tribeca. The new loft has a roofdeck, with plenty of space for a garden, hammock (Mrs. M and I are still negotiatingon this point) and playhouse. We settled on a bunny: MUGGER III wants to nameit $10 Bill, a very cool choice, I think. Junior protested later in the morning,around 5, saying he wanted a bird, so it might turn out that we'll havetwo creatures in large cages with a clear view of the Hudson.