the storybook friendship of Malcolm & Frankie

Frankie loves Malcolm
Originally uploaded by Critical Mess.

See, you've got to understand the special relationship - the brotherly bond - that's developed between Malcolm (aka - the good cat) and Frankie. The cynical among you might explain Malcolm's high threshold of tolerance for Frankie's, uh, affection as a self-serving attempt to garner attention for himself. You'd probably be at least partially right. But they really do get along, at least insofar as Malcolm puts up with a lot from Frankie.

And, I mean, it's not like Malcolm doesn't mess with Frankie on occasion...



So, then, with this understanding of the unique and special bond between Frankie and Malcolm, and taking into consideration the seemingly boundless supply of tolerance this cat has shown toward the boy, we are far less negligent parents than this video might indicate.

Uh oh!

Frankie's extreme cuteness has been obvious pretty much from Day One, but his absolute brilliance has only recently begun to really show.

I'm gonna break my plastic cage and run...

I'm gonna break my plastic cage and run...
Originally uploaded by Critical Mess.

Nobody appreciates a good prison song more than Frankie, and he's been a fan of Johnny Cash since way back before he can remember, or so he claims. The future outlaw cowboy is seen here contemplating making a break from the 6'x6' plastic pen he's been confined to ever since he found his crawlin' legs.

It came from the bathroom...

and carved a path of destruction all the way to the bookcase...

Damn You, Phillip Morris!

Anna: Frankie’s sick again. His cough sounds terrible.

Leslie: I’m sorry. (in serious voice) Look, I didn’t want to tell you this…

Anna: What???

Leslie: But the other day when I was at your house (pause for dramatic effect). I saw some cigarettes in Frankie’s crib. You should really take away his lighter.

He's a man of many talents....

News From Camp Frankie

We realized the other day that Frankie knows more than we thought. He is aware of the names of his frequently played with toys and books (kitty book, Oh My Oh My Oh Dinosaurs, Peekaboo Kisses, fishie, bear, ball, cheerios, car). If you ask him, “Where’s your car?” and he feels like playing your little parlor game, he’ll get it for you. We are currently hard at work on nose, eyes, ears, toes, feet and mouth.

He started daycare last Tuesday (a test run with me there for two hours), half days on Wednesday and Thursday, and then a full day on Friday. Friday was not a good day; he had a rough time sleeping on Thursday night because of a persistent cough that makes him sound like a pack-a-day smoker. He acquired a bit of a cold about a week and a half ago and because of his recent bronchitis, it’s now difficult for him to shake anything respiratory. We’ve been giving him the occasional breathing treatment and dose of cough syrup, but we now know that what it just takes time for him to get better. Other than that, he’s adjusted fairly well so far. He cries when we leave but his teachers tell us he’s okay five minutes later. Frankie’s managed to make “friends” of the other babies including one little girl named Audrey in particular, and I’ve been pleased with the teachers interactions with him.

Despite all this, it is heart wrenching to leave him there and to think about him being with people other than our family for the majority of the day. It’s not that I don’t think they’ll take good care of him; but I know they don’t love him as much as we do and that obviously makes an interaction different. I had always pictured myself staying home with my children much like my Mom did with me. Clearly, I’m glad that I don’t live in the 60’s, but the flipside of not staying home is as hard as actually staying home. Neither one is an ideal choice. I’ve been told by many people that when your child is away for so much time, your interactions with them are of a better “quality” – they are heightened somehow. That seems to me something parents tell themselves to feel better. A part of me wants to be relieved by platitudes, and the sad sack, dramatic part of me just wants to see it for how it is and be depressed about it.