Memorial Day Weekend 2026
It’s the season for events. Last weekend, we celebrated birthdays for Matthew, his friend Morgan, and Morgan’s sister, Hannah. It was an amazing party, and the kids were happy: for the very first time at a gathering, Matthew did not cry or demand to be taken home. Score! He kept saying, “Papa, this is the best day of my life!”
I have to admit that it’s a little bittersweet. Soon he’ll be too big to pick up, so every time he asks, he gets a big hug, and I hold him as best I can. Willie & Max are even heavier than Matthew is, and they're stouter, so their centers of gravity are different. Lifting them is like picking up bales of hay: you can’t get a good grip, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to wrench your back doing it. They are so loving and trusting; they only want attention and warmth and to break your body so you’re an invalid.
On Friday, we had our six-month dental checkup for Will and Max. Friday was also a day off from Matthew’s school to celebrate Shavuot, and it so happened that our nanny couldn’t be here in the morning. So Curtis and I took all three kids to the dentist for X-rays and cleaning.
Our kids love the dentist because the decor is brightly colored, has lots of TVs on the ceiling to watch movies (News Flash: Matthew now wants a TV in his bedroom ceiling), and the office contains not only lots of electronic equipment with on/off buttons, but also shiny surgical steel instruments to play with. How their insurance allows them to have anything below adult shoulder level is beyond me. But the kids are gleeful.
The good news is that the kids have good teeth with no cavities. After fifty minutes, we were walking out the door, with dental goodie bags and dreams of learning to floss.
This coming week is the last week of the 2025-2026 school year for Will and Max. Our little boys are growing up. Matthew’s last day of preschool is two weeks later. We have them signed up for summer school and for summer camp.
The other day, the Gorditos were having dinner. Willie wouldn’t eat at all.
“Cupcake. Cupcake. Cupcake. Papa, cupcake!” He started wailing.
“Willie, I’ll get you a cupcake after you finish your chicken.”
“No. Cupcake.” More wailing, with heavy tears pouring down his face.
“Willie, if you eat two more bites of chicken, you can have a cupcake.”
He looked at me, tears still fresh on his face. Then he held up a finger.
“One bite.” My three-year-old kid is negotiating with me.
“No deal. Chicken first, then cupcake.”
”No. Cupcake.”
He got the cupcake. He ate it with gusto, crumbs flying everywhere at his current eating skill. Then, while staring at me, he ate the rest of his chicken. He might as well have given me the finger, too.
This doesn’t set off any red flags at all.
Tomorrow is Memorial Day. For most of my adult life, this was the weekend to celebrate my friend John’s birthday and to kick off the summer. It was one of my favorite weekends of the year, and almost always meant a birthday pool party with good food, strong cocktails, lots of laughs, and plenty of men in tiny swimsuits showing off their gym progress, which I can totally get behind.
These days, we’ll have some barbecue and try to entice toddlers to broaden their palates with corn on the cob and Texas-style potato salad. It’s a different life, and I love it, but I sure miss my old friends.
"My three-year-old kid is negotiating with me...This doesn't set off any red flags at all."
Yeah, no. You and I and everyone who reads this blog know in our bones that Matthew coached Willie. 😈