Made You Say It! (Part Two)

It was right after one of those “I don’t want YOU!” outbursts had prompted me to seek my fortune in another room of the house, that L. followed me and, in a dazzling display of four-year-old audacity, asked, “Will you get me a cookie?”

“Oh!  So now you want me!  Now you need me, don’t you?” I sneered.

Unsure what was happening here, my son tentatively asked me again, “Will you get me a cookie?”

“Say you need me first!” I chortled.  “Say you need your Daddy!”

“No,” he pouted.

I remained unmoved.  “Then no cookie for you!” I crowed, “because you need me to get you a cookie . . . now say it!”

Thus outmaneuvered and defeated, say it he did.  He giggled a lot as he said it, but he still said it, and I am never going to let him forget that he did!  All in all a single cookie is a small price to pay for that kind of triumph.

And between you and me, immature or not, it felt pretty good too.

Made You Say It! (Part One)

My maturity level is starting to drop again.

With most of the household still at least somewhat under the weather, I’m definitely starting to feel the strain.  Physically I’m fine, but (to put it mildly) serene I am not.  The main reason for this is my son’s current habit of proclaiming in voice for all of Heaven and Earth to hear that “I don’t want YOU!!!” at moments throughout the day and night both random (like when I’m just walking by) and insultingly deliberate (like when I’m asking him if there’s anything I can do to help him).

You want your Mom, son.  I get it.

But sometimes I’m all you’ve got.

And I’m Already Over Time

Ever since the realization that L., if allowed, will spend way too much time on the computer, we’ve been fighting an uphill (but successful) battle to limit his computer time.  Since this is a habit he picked up from all of us, part of this battle has included limiting our own computer time.

With that said, I must now go because my son has in complete fairness informed me that it’s time for me to get off the computer, and that I only have “one more minute to wrap it up.”

Maturity “As Needed” Is All I Need Anyway

Annnd today everything I wanted to do, along with several things I thought I “needed” to do, have been tabled to let the unwell and immobile rest while I send those in a terrible mood to their room as needed.  (Remarkably similar procedures, come to think of it.)

I have now balanced out yesterday.

In My Defense, It Was Early This Morning And I Was Still Waking Up

Today I failed a maturity test.

My son wanted me to read him one of his animal magazines, and the feature article was on the blue-footed booby.

Now I’ve been doing this parenting thing for a while now, and I have an example to set, so neither the blue-footed booby nor even the titmouse is going to get even a titter out of me these days, I told myself.

Then I reach the point where the magazine encouraged all their young readers to “Do the booby dance” . . .

Exactly!

We value the same things; we just prioritize them differently!

– L’s Mother response to someone claiming they had “very different” political views than she did.

An Open Letter To All My Facebook Friends

Look . . . we’re friends, right?  You know I’d never say you look “great” in a picture if I didn’t actually think you look great.  Sometimes you really do look great! (And don’t let the fact that I don’t always think to say that lead you to believe otherwise.)

But you know those people on Facebook who say you look great in every picture of yourself you post?

They’re lying.

Sorry.

Did You Understand What I Meant? Then It’s A Word Now

While it’s gotten me some friendly flak around here for saying it this way, I still stand by my commitment to take more preventative measures and to rely less on “postventative” ones.

And If You’ve Ever Heard Me Try To Hit A High C, You’d REALLY Understand

Speaking of odd fatherhood moments, being a father has taught me many things . . . and some of these things are particularly silly.

But the silliest thing of all I’ve learned so far is that, come bubble bath time, Bubblebeard is still the terror of the high seas.

Awkward . . . But I’m STILL Glad We Watched The Movie Together

“That says ‘To Hell and Back,'” L. told me the other day as he browsed some titles on one of my bookshelves.

“Yes . . . yes it does,” I agreed, feeling a little perplexed.  While I knew L. was starting to read, I was sure (well . . . reasonably sure, at least), that I had successfully managed to avoid introducing the word “hell” into his vocabulary, so I found myself wondering just how in the hell he’d managed to learn that word in the first place.

Then, as if in response to my unspoken question, or perhaps just to my quizzical expression, he looked me in the eye and said:

“You know, do a little god dance, chant some mystic mumbo jumbo, dazzzle ’em with some smoke and mirrors, and then get the hell back to Spain!”

“Right,” I chuckled.  “We have been watching a lot of The Road To El Dorado lately, haven’t we?” I asked rhetorically.