This Is Why I’m Hopeful

“Dad!  I’m stuck!” my son cried out to me this morning.

“Hang on!”  I called back.  “Let me get my camera!”

“Nooooooo!” he called out dramatically since he could see perfectly well I was already moving to help him.

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I’m Still Hopeful Though, Son, So . . . There’s That

Okay . . . I lied on Monday when I said what I was about to say applied to nobody I was currently in contact with.  I didn’t do so purposefully, but not long after I had posted that I realized I had lied nevertheless . . . as soon as I looked at myself in the mirror.

Yeah . . .

I’ll Finish That Joke Tomorrow

We interrupt the joke I was setting up for yesterday with the news that Stephen Hawking has died, and to make the following correction to one of the announcement I read regarding this:

Stephen Hawking did a lot of amazing things, but he never ever worked “with” black holes.  Maybe he is now, but he never did it when he was alive!  I know I’m being pedantic here, but it just seems like the sort of distinction that needs to be made when talking about even the concept of working with a black hole.

“Currently”

I want to say up front that what I’m about to say applies to nobody I am currently in contact with, but sometimes the only thing you can do is look at somebody and hope against hope that they don’t mess up their children too much.

Recognizing The Irony Helped Me Relax . . . A Little

What’s the irony level for getting frustrated for getting stuck in traffic on the way to an appointment to help you relax?  Painful?

Painful sounds about right.

Or Maybe It Was Just Speaking To Me

You know what?  After watching Wreck-It-Ralph four times in one week (You do what you have to do when your child is missing their mother when she’s out-of-town.), the Bad Guy affirmation can really start to speak to you:

I’m bad . . . and that’s good.

I will never be good . . . and that’s not bad.

There’s no one I’d rather be . . . than me.

Speaking Of Rides

You always want to give your belly a break after a roller coaster.

– L, age 7

My Next Thought Was “Whoa!” (And I’m Happy To Say That I Didn’t Need The Bag)

You know how enough overly cautious speed limits on curves can lull you into a false sense of security so that it’s a nasty surprise when you hit a curve where even an iota over the posted speed can give you that sliding off the road sensation?

A while back at a theme park I endured warning after warning for rides that wouldn’t have given even L’s Grandmother (a notorious lightweight when it comes to ride tolerance) a flutter, so it’s understandable (if unwise) that when I was told an upcoming ride would be “intense,” my first thought was “Yeah, yeah.”

Then as the ride started I saw the provided barf bags . . .

We’ll Doubtlessly Be Revisiting This Topic Sooner Or Later

Yesterday while driving with my son in the backseat, he asked me a question while we were stopped at a stoplight.

“Dad, what’s this?” he asked.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I was treated to the sight of my son giving me the finger.

Huh, I thought.  I figured I still had a few more years, at least, before I’d see that.  Out loud though, I just asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean what is this finger called?” he clarified.

“Oh!” I chuckled.  “It’s just called the middle finger.”

“So there’s thumb, pointer finger, middle finger, um . . .”

“Then ring finger,” I supplied.  “Because traditionally that’s the finger a ring goes on.”

“Ring finger, and pinkie finger,” he said sounding satisfied.  “Thanks, Dad.”

“Any time, son.”

There Are Worse Things

For the record, L’s Mother and I did remember that Friday was our anniversary . . . one second after someone wished us a happy anniversary.

At this point I figure this is just our thing.