While my son and I were playing with our dog this morning, she started to get rambunctious, so we ended up singing, “Crazy eyes, crazy eyes! It should come as no surprise, that you are feeling wild, ’cause we see your crazy eyes!” (I have just come to accept that this is “normal” in this house.)
It was only later that it occurred to me that if someone had taught me to look for crazy eyes when I was my son’s age, my life would have turned out very differently . . .
L (Age 7): Do you want to see a magic trick, Dad?
Me: I’m pretty sure I just said I needed a few minutes to get some work done, buuuuut . . . okay.
L: *spends several long moments twirling and making “mysterious” noises*
Me: Okaaay . . . what’s the trick?
L: *putting his finger to his lips* Shhhhh. The magic takes time.
One of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to watch is a sick child struggling to breathe and sleep at the same time, and I got to do that in the comfort of my own home and with the knowledge it was nothing worse than a minor cold.
Hang in there little name-brother. This candle is for you and yours.
Something fiction involving parenthood actually prepares you for: The nigh-inevitable “child not wanting to be alone coming into your room in the middle of the night” moment.
Something some fiction involving parenthood sort of prepares you for: The moment when you child begins do their best to recreate their room in yours so they can sleep better when they do finally go to sleep and let you sleep again as well.
Something fiction involving parenthood tends to gloss over: That moment when you are pressed against the wall and tangled in a Frankenstein-like creation of covers, some of you hot and some of you cold, but all of you unwilling to move lest you wake the child that has kept you awake for over an hour now.
Something I know fiction involving parenthood has never mentioned: The moment when at long last you get back to sleep as well and lapse into a fitful dream involving creepy crawly things and your child brushes their foot against you at the perfect time to startle you awake once more.
“I thought because we had a bad moment, we were going to have a bad day, but we didn’t!”
– L., Age 7
And Hate has been driven off by Love, but Hate can never be truly defeated, for when Love falters, Hate . . . shall . . . return!
– Something I overheard my son saying while he was playing the other day
“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.
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.
You always want to give your belly a break after a roller coaster.
– L, age 7
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.”
