Tag: Adam

“When I’m big I can drink coffee and mouthwash, just like you dad!”

Although it’s still early, I’m still working on wether that should offend me.

What kind of day would you think I had if I told you I spent the evening running after my kid, and cleaning up one mess after another? Would you believe me if I told you it was damn near perfect?

I’m wicked tired, but it’s worth it.

As usual, I rolled out of the office at 3:30, picked up Adam, and got back to the house a little after four. He helped me get the laundry started, then I helped him work up a sweat in the back yard – playing our own version of one-on-one soccer. There aren’t any rules, other than ‘don’t stop.’ After a brief cool down, we heated up some left-overs for dinner.

“Look dad, I’ve got a beard!”

“Are you sure that’s a beard, it looks like mashed potatoes.”

I know I shouldn’t encourage him to play with his food (Cheryl would probably kill me), but it seemed so funny (that or I was feeling a little punchy from the heat stroke).

Then it was off to the tub, and my latest attempt at rebranding the bath, to make it seem fun. The last few nights he’s been hip to the hybrid “shower-bath.” We washed off the beard, decided on a new name for his rubber duck (Rupert), cleaned up dinner, cycled the laundry, made the beds, and collapsed in the family room for a little down time – me with my PowerBook and Adam with his crayons. He had a new word to add to his list tonight: “Look dad, R-A-Y-S spells Rays! I like the Rays, just like you dad.”

It was a pretty good day.

This morning my son asked me to spell one of the character’s names from Cars.

Without hesitation, I replied:

M – A – T – T – E – R

“That’s not right dad! There’s only one ‘T’ in Mater.”

Then he went to his dry erase board on the fridge to show me:

MATER

“Yep,” I said, “that looks right Adam.” Inside I was thinking, ‘Jeez… I just figured he wanted to know. I didn’t think this was a quiz… or that I’d fail.’

Something’s not right when your three year old is correcting your spelling.

Our son and daughter have something in common. They both loved to play with the alphabet magnets on the fridge. Boy, if those letters could talk… oh the stories they could tell. You can sense it just looking at them. Scratched, scarred, chewed, abandoned, thrown, drown, colored and just plain abused – they’ve suffered every indignity a child could throw at ’em.

I tell you this though, they’ve done their duty. Adam loves to spell things, and it started with those little magnetized letters.

Now he’s moved on to crayons and paper, and almost every day we get a drawing that includes a list of the words he can spell: mommy, daddy, memere, pepere, and his latest: Ace.

Ace?

Last week we had a little accident. Mind you, that doesn’t make last week special. Heck, it wouldn’t make any day in the last three years special. It comes with the territory when you’re three (that or he gets a lack of coordination from his mother’s side of the family). Maybe you’re familiar with Ace too? Yeah, that Ace – of bandage fame. We’ve got a reusable, soft ice pack that we haul out when the water works are particularly heavy. It’s the king of all placebos, as far as I’m concerned. We slap that thing on and the kids calm right down.

Adam is usually quick to point out the letters of a word he sees. “Look dad, there’s an A!” He’s been able to identify them correctly for some time now, but lately he wants to know what they spell. Most of these words are promptly forgotten, or if they aren’t, they’re not deemed worthy of the list. Not Ace though. He asked me about the letters he saw on his ice pack last weekend, and Ace has been on the list ever since.

As long as daddy makes it on the list first, I think I’m o.k. with that.

I wonder if it’s normal for kids to be restless sleepers. My kids are all over the place. It’s like they treat their bed the same at night as they do when they’re awake – like a piece of gym equipment.

I wonder if their sleep position has anything to do with their dreams. Yesterday morning made me wonder. Adam had his arms raised, his chin up (his pillow was under his shoulders), and his legs frozen in mid-stride. The first thing that came to mind was the old Bruce Jenner Wheaties box.

Seems like there are worse ways to start your morning.

“Adam, I’m going to give you to the count of three to get in the bath tub…”

“Oh yeah, well I’m going to count to five!”

More than one person in this tale needs a time out. Maybe this will sound funny in the morning.

Beth was doing something the other day and Adam felt compelled to exclaim: “YOU’RE FREAKING ME OUT MAN!”

Seeing your three-year-old doing dad impersonations is just about the funniest thing going these days.

This evening I pulled something off that made me feel like I’d harnessed the power to solve all the world’s ills.

What could possibly make me feel so… well, manic? Adam was just starting one of his trademark tantrums when I tried a little change of pace. I have no idea what came over me. Normally I’m kind of reserved, but this evening I jumped up and down and cried, “You’re freaking me out man!” (best served with a surfer-dude ‘tude.)

Adam stopped mid leap (most of his tantrums have a distinct vertical aspect to them), stared at me for a moment, and burst out in a fit of giggles.

Man, what a rush!

Rise before Zod. Kneel before Zod!

And no, I’m not talking about the headache meds.

Sometimes it’s a lot of fun being a dad. I say that like I’m revealing some tightly guarded secret. Hey, cut me some slack. I’m still feeling guilty about ignoring Adam’s unusual warmth the last couple mornings. Yeah, I haven’t mentioned that yet, have I?

Our morning routine involves me sitting down on his bed, pulling back the covers and Adam sticking out his arms (the silent but still effective command to be picked up). I carry him (half awake) to the table for his morning milk (that I’ve got waiting for him). Well, the last couple mornings I thought he felt a little warmer than usual, but I dismissed it due to an absence of any other symptoms. Well this morning Cheryl noticed and took his temperature, and low and behold – he had a fever. It turns out my parental instincts are shit.

But back to the fun stuff. Yesterday (back when I was still in denial), we had a little indoor safari. Adam noticed a squirrel hiding under our table out back, and we decided to see how close we could sneak up before the little guy took off. We got low and went slow. I’m not sure being low helped any, but somehow it seems like being close to the ground is an essential ingredient of stealth. Surely it’s some remnant species memory from the savannah (no offense to those of you who think the creation story in the Bible is a historical account, though I’m tempted). I’d grabbed my camera from the shelf and we crouched behind the wall in the hall. There we discussed strategy. I started out with my silent impression of a Hollywood soldier, but the performance was completely wasted on my three year old, who looked at me liked I’d developed a bizarre tic. We cautiously made our way behind the table and across the kitchen to our small pantry, which sits next to our sliding glass door.

“Alright kid. We’re only going to get one chance at this so I’ve gotta make sure I make this shot count.”

“Take the shot dad! Take the shot!”

I managed to take a couple pictures before Adam was completely overcome with excitement. He leaped to his feet and the squirrel took off. “Let me see the picture. Please let me see!”

It’s not the greatest picture, nor is it the most interesting subject; but there’s a lot of fun… and love… that goes with it.