I’d Still Prefer Less Thinking Next Time Though

If it’s the thought that counts, then we’ve had a great night!

– L’s Mother after all our plans to spend a pleasant evening together fell apart.

I Got Nothin’

It feels like I’m having an epiphany . . . but nothing’s coming to mind.

– L’s Mother after I asked her why she looked so distracted the other night.

Make Your Memories While You Can

Today I did a very “Dad” thing when my son asked me if he could have a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast.  Knowing that they were indeed delicious, I told him he could have one if he said, “My Daddy is the greatest Daddy ever!”  He did (with gusto, I might add), so I gave him a cookie.  (Yes, I had one too.)

While I know all that sounds straight out of a “Dads . . . you know how they are” stand-up routine (it’s only missing getting caught by Mom and stammering out some lame excuses), the reason why I did it probably won’t end up in a comedy act.

The other day L. and his mother were talking about how he came out of her tummy and became her child (We’ll go over the more precise details another time, son), when out of the blue he said, “Remember when I choked on dog food and went into your tummy to become your child?”

To the best of my knowledge he has, of course, never eaten dog food, much less choked on it . . . not in this life, at least.

Does it necessarily mean anything that he said that?  No, of course not, but it was a disturbing enough image for me regardless, that when my son asked me this morning if he could have a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast, I decided he damn well could have a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast this morning.

Sometimes The Reasonable Response IS The “Batty” One

But I’ve bought a big bat.
I’m all ready, you see.
Now my troubles are going
To have troubles with me!

– Dr. Seuss, I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew

It Helps To Remember Your Own Childhood Now And Then

Last Friday I mentioned in passing that my son sometimes calls me Rob.

To be clear, I neither like nor encourage this, but I’ve decided to not make a big deal about it because I do understand why he does it.  Everybody else around here calls me Rob, so I can see how it makes sense to him that he should too.  I know he doesn’t mean to be “disrespectful” when he does it, so I’ve decided to roll with it while encouraging him to call me something else.

It’s not an ideal solution, but I prefer it to the other options I see for dealing with this:

1.  He’s calling me Rob because he’s imitating the other people in the house.  If I got them to call me “Daddy” instead of Rob, he’d almost certainly follow suit.

But I don’t want to be called “Daddy” by somebody who’s not my child.  (Feel free to make your own “Not Being Into That Sort Of Thing” joke here if you like, but for a change I’m serious.)

2.  I’m perfectly capable of making a huge deal about him calling me Rob and putting the fear of me into him until he stops it once and for all . . . within my earshot, at least, and therein lies the rub.

Aside from this option being unpleasant for all concerned, there’s enough important issues I have to draw the line on with him, I neither want nor need to waste my authority with him by taking a stand over something so blatantly trivial.  I remember enough adults (teachers mostly) from my childhood who did that, and I still remember how that went.  It made them look petty and pathetic, and it certainly didn’t make me “respect” them.  At best it meant I simply didn’t express my scorn for them so they could hear it . . .

Because I HATE It When He Calls Me Rob

Yesterday I mentioned that my son wanted to be called Diesel 10.

This is a pretty common thing around here right now, though I suppose it must be a sign that he’s growing up because he used to call me Diesel 10.

I miss those days.

Another Guest Entry From L.

here is a post for you rob love diesel 10

*****

(I told him this time he should do something other than just “random letters,” so he did.)

(Also, he’s Diesel 10 today, and that means I’m Rob since I’m not Diesel 10’s Daddy, after all.)

At Least I’m Not Proud Of That

I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it.

– Edith Sitwell

(Found this while looking for a quote about patience since my wrist still hurts a bit, and I was starting to get impatient about that . . . which is a little bit stupid when you think about it.)

It’s Not Just Discouraging, It’s Wrong (Factually AND Otherwise)

The absolute worst time to tell someone they can’t fly is right when they’re in the middle of doing just that.

And Gold Is So HEAVY Too . . .

The people who live in a golden age usually go around complaining how yellow everything looks.

– Randall Jarrell