The Meds

It sat in the bottom of the cup: a pink, pearlescent puddle. It looked innocuous enough but I knew better. Meds. For The Boy.

Crap.

I dipped a finger in and tasted it; I always want to know what the reaction was going to be from him. Hmmm...cherry flavored. Not ba...SWEET MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS HOLY (AND LESS THAN HOLY TOO SINCE I DON'T LIKE TO BE ALL EXCLUSIONARY LIKE THAT.)

Where did that aftertaste come from? I was tempted to go eat some grass in the back yard to get rid of the flavor.

The Wife walked into the kitchen. "What's with 'the face'."

I pointed to the offending, tiny, pool of doom that lurked in the bottom of the rocks glass. She walked over and dipped a finger in. I thought briefly about warning her but the thought, "why should I be alone in this?"

"That's not ba...oh. my. god. That is horrible. Why didn't you get it flavored?"

"I did. I just didn't realize that when I asked for cherry flavor it came with a chaser of putrefied skunk rectum."

The Boy walked in. We stopped staring at the pink cesspool. He knew what was up when he saw the rocks glass though. "I don't want any medicine."

Zoom! Gone. Out of the room.

It was time for the pleading to begin.

I chilled it in the fridge while we offered all sorts of helpful hints on how a popsicle would numb his taste buds and how it'll make him feel better (it was only a minor sinus thing, thanks for caring) and how the doctor said he should take it and how if he didn't take it, God would come down from heaven, destroy his bodily form utterly and completely, and cast his soul adrift in the winds of Limbo until such time as he decided to take the damn medicine and then and only then would he be made corporeal again (okay, I only thought that last one, but I still think it would have worked.)

None of it worked. He's always been stubborn like that. Finally, I had to pull a daddy trick. I got his nemesis, the dosing syringe. I silently held it up and he had flashbacks to the times I held him tight and forced medicine down his throat with it. They're not pretty memories for either of us, but, in the end, you have to go with what works.

He crumbled. He took the medicine with an iced tea chaser. We did the appropriate praising and wrote a few extra verses to the Hallelujah Chorus in honor of his achievement...because that's what little boys require.

The rest of the doses since have gone off without a hitch. Someday we're hoping to achieve drama-free nirvana. Until then though, I've got the dosing syringe on standby.

 

Technorati Tags: look kid - it's gonna happen one way or the other

Poor Child

I'm thinking this is some father-son thing or some 'I'm six now and will show my independence regardless of the consequences' thing, but my son will just be contrary at random. It's more pronounced when he's tired. The Boy doesn't get tired; he gets pissy and then passes out. Yes, this is the same little angel from yesterday, but we all know the score. Most days it's sweetness and light and then you get those days.

A scene from just a few days ago:

Me: "Jacob, did you see that?"

Jacob: "Don't call me Jacob."

Me: "But that's your name. I can get your ID if you would like...Jacob." (Yeah, I know the added Jacob there was just to get under his skin, but if he gets to razz me, I get to razz back.)

Jacob: "Stop calling me Jacob."

Me: "Okay, I'm going to call you Matilda then."

Matilda: "Stop it."

Me: "Okay, Matilda."

Matilda: "Don't call me that."

Me: "Hmmm...we'll need a form of address though in case of emergency." At this point his eyes narrowed. He's smart and is well-versed in my satiric ways. "I'm going with wiener then. If I need your attention I'll just yell out, 'Hey, wiener,' and you can respond."

Weiner: "Mawm! Dad's picking on me!"

Another random scene:

Me: "Hey, buddy. You tire is looking a little low on your bike. I'll get the pump and you can fix that with me.

Jacob (at least for now): "Stop picking on me."

Me: "Only trying to help."

Jacob: "Stop picking on me."

Me: *practiced silence*

So The Boy rides off, takes a corner too quick, and flops over. He gets up and seems to be in one piece.

Me: "Are you okay, buddy?"

Wiener: "Stop picking on me."

He gets back on his bike a wobbles by due to a wonky tire.

Matilda: "My bike feels funny."

Me: "That may be because you need a little air in your tire."

Uber-wiener: "Mawm! Daddy's bein' mean."

Fortunately, The Wife has seen this stuff happen and no longer feels the need to ask what's going on. If I roll my eyes she knows that he's in 'wiener mode.' She is much better at dealing with wiener mode than I am. I tend to play it as a scene from an Abbott and Costello movie. It's going to go south anyway, so I may as well enjoy myself. She, however, does special mom things that are startlingly similar to my initial dad things to pull him out of the perilous spiral of total wienerfication.

I don't know if any of you see this stuff, but I'm guessing he'll grow out of it eventually. At least it gives me material.

 

Technorati Tags: kids,children,wiener

Child of Our Hearts

Jen over at Steenky Bee and I are both adoptive parents. I forget how she found out that I was. She stalks people you know...it could have been through any number of sources. After she did though, we thought it would be nice to do a dual post with the theme of how we are (or in my case, will) talk to our children about adoption. Here's mine. Stop over at Steenky Bee after and Jen will show you hers.

Our son is just turned six last month. My wife and I adopted our son from Korea. He arrived when he was six months old. He knows he was born in Korea and he's faced the inevitable, "Where are you from?" question numerous times. (He answers with his hometown -- we've taught him well.) My Wife and I haven't made his adoption an issue yet since we know it will come up in due time. We don't know how it will come up or how much he will want to know. Nothing is a secret though, it's just how it is. We're a family; he's our son. The deeper questions will come though so I just thought I'd answer a few now.

"Why wasn't I born in your tummy mommy?" You had an extra special birth. Even though you were born in Korea, we carried you in our hearts from half a world away. You grew in your birth mommy's tummy and we love her for that.

"Why did my birth mommy give me away?" She wanted the best for you. She felt like she couldn't give it to you because of her circumstances -- the way things were in her life -- but she knew we were here to take perfect care of you.

"How did I get here?" You came by airplane. You had an escort who had the most important job in the world -- bringing our family together. You looked so tiny when you came down the ramp in the stroller. You just looked around while the people getting off the plane congratulated us. They said you were very good on the plane and didn't cry at all. I was scared and nervous as your escort placed you in my arms for the first time. You weren't though. You were calm and peaceful. You knew you were home.

It's amazing how much I would like to tell you now...about how we stared and stared at the pictures that your foster mother sent us until we had them memorized...about how the wait was so hard -- even though it was a mere nine months...about how, after so long trying to conceive, we finally were able to make our family whole. You're only six right now though and you're more concerned if we have any red popsicles left or whether you can go ride your bike with your friends on the block.

No matter what happens or what questions you have or when you start to be curious, we'll be there for you. We found each other across continents and our family was made whole. You were born in our hearts and will always remain there. Let the questions come

.

Technorati Tags: adoption,children,kids

Things that make a dad proud

There are moments in life where you really get to see what kind of influence you are having on your son.

A short list of some cool stuff that's making me all proud:

1. He'll be all dressed to go somewhere and I'll come downstairs wearing, let's say black jeans. He looks down at his jeans, trots up the stairs and comes down in his own set of black jeans. For some reason though I'm the only one that ever gets the line, "Is that what you're wearing?" from The Wife even if we're dressed identically.

2. I have a big pirate flag in the office and occasionally, The Boy will have me attach his own pirate flag to whatever he's riding at the time. I see it flapping behind him as he rides around and think, "Yaaarrrrr! That's me boyo makin' his pa proud."

3. He knows the all the words to Margaritaville and Pencil-Thin Mustache and will sing them in the car with me. I try to make sure we're already singing in the car when The Wife gets in so that she won't be able to put on that damnable country music she listens to. She would never interrupt a sing along.

4. He will also request that the Flogging Molly CD be played in the car. He hasn't quite got the lyrics down yet, but it's only a matter of time.

5. He says "sweet' with the proper inflection. (That would be 'suh-weet' for the uninitiated out there.)

Yeah, yeah, he's all polite and respectful and crap too. He gets that from us, but I was talking about the really important stuff up there.

There are the occasional bad influences we have. When he says "shit," though, that's his mom's fault. I will, however, totally admit to it being my fault when I hear a "Jesus H. Christ," out of him.

 

Technorati Tags: children,kids

Hey, I didn't choose this...

Things I never thought I'd say:

"Predator does lousy in freestyle. He doesn't give himself enough shock travel and always ends up breaking his truck."
"That track looks tacky today. We're going to see a lot of rollovers and bicycling." (and we do.)
"He can still race. It just looks like he broke a sway bar." (the official diagnosis later: he broke a sway bar.)

Sound like gibberish to you? Yeah, it would have to me before The Boy too. I don't know how he found it. It must have been some random channel surfing on my part, but he loves monster trucks. When you get right down to it though, it's sort of a blessing. A long race is a smidge over 30 seconds. He could have gotten into nascar. That would have blown. Those damn races last way past sensibility. Maybe if I took a nail gun to the head -- I'm thinking it would have to be at least a 2-inch nail -- I would be at the approximate frame of mind it would take to sit through a nascar race. It just bores the crap out of me. No offense if that's your bag.

Anyway, it's funny to watch The Boy play with his toy monster trucks and do a play-by-play on the races. He has all the announcer tag phrases down. He does whole competitions and blurts out things like, "That broken spindle is gonna keep Scarlet Bandit out of the finals!" or "He did not get both tires up the stack. That will be a five-second penalty."

The other day he fell off his bike (he's fine btw, they should make tanks out of little boys. They would be indestructible. Unless mommy is looking. Then the tank would break down in tears every time it scratched its paint and ask to be held.) and it was due to a "problem with the rear steering. It must have broken when he ran over the last car stack." Yeah. I see that a lot on my bike too.

It's fun to watch kids grow and I can't wait to see what other interests he picks up in the future...as long as they don't suck, of course. He's doing okay for now though. I guess I'll have to wait until he can actually read until I can foster his interest in writing. I guess I'll just have to watch the Monster Jam finals in Vegas for now.

 

Technorati Tags: children,kids,monster trucks,nascar

The Party

The Boy is turning six so we decided to throw him a party. We figured we would keep it simple, just the neighborhood kids and two other friends. Overall, the party went well but we learned some things along the way. There only seven kids there, but five of them were girls between the ages of five and seven. We have a boy.

1. The purple dinosaur mask is the most coveted by the young female humans in the entire color spectrum of dinosaur masks.

2. The winner of a fair-and-square rock, paper, scissors match is not respected by female-kind. That's simply uncivilized.

3. My wife can come up with awesome comments like, "I don't care who gets the blue cup. Why don't you two go in the bathroom and stay there until you figure it out?"

4. Girls practice fickleness early in life.

Question:  "What kind of ice cream do you want?"
Answer:  "Vanilla."
I turn away. "
No, chocolate."
I nod and turn away again. "
Wait, vanilla."
All this in the space of 8 seconds.

5. Next time colored party favors are involved with masses of little girls (which, in my life, will hopefully be never) there will be only one color. Preferably snot green.

6. Once little girls settle on a balloon color, they like them tied to their wrist so that other conniving, little girls will need blades to remove them from their owner. I offered to tie 40 or so to one girl's wrist just to see if we could get her airborne. She declined, sensing a ruse was involved.

Then there was the, "That's my ice cream," comment. I had to point out to the girls that they were both vanilla and both unopened. That seemed not to matter. The order in which they were presented was paramount. I walked off.

I notified a grandparent who had arrived that their granddaughter would be out in a second after we hammered out an issue involving A) balloon color and B) mask color and without missing a beat she said, "Invited a lot of girls did ya?"

Does everyone know about this besides my wife and I?

Despite all the bargaining over who was getting the purple dino masks, I'm pretty sure we won't see the lasses prowling the neighborhood with them on. The boys on the other hand, will be seen with them on regardless of hue.

Not all oddity occurs among females though:

When everyone was leaving The Boy said, "I'm going to let my balloon go."

I said, "Don't do that buddy. That's a domestic balloon and will never make it on its own in the wild."

He turned away. Humor is lost on the younger set sometimes. He then let it go and then complained that he had no balloon. I informed him that his grandparents were inside and he should go visit with them.

I would like to point out that I read a lot of blogs and was still woefully unprepared for party girlishness. C'mon people. I leave comments. Help me out next time. Oh well, I probably wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it anyway.

Next time we have a party, (a long ways off I hope) maybe we'll keep it to all boys. That way we'll only end up having to repair things around the house.

 

Technorati Tags: "sugar and spice" my ass,children,kids,party

Escaping the Mower

The other day I was out with The Boy and we decided to mow the lawn. It's sort of fun too. He pushes along side of me and we have a good time doing it.

We got about half of the yard done and I noticed a large moth just sort of hanging out in the grass right in the path of the mower. I stopped the mower and and he asked why.

"We should help this moth out of the way," I said. I was thinking this is a great way to teach him how to be nice and respect nature and all that other stuff we're supposed to impart as parents.

We raised some butterflies earlier in the year and he got a kick out of that, so he scrunches down next to me and gets a good look at the moth. He didn't want to hurt it, so I picked it up. It was didn't fly away instantly so The Boy got a chance to hold it gently in his palm anyway. He plopped it back into my hand and I tossed it into the air.

It fluttered away aimlessly and then a sparrow came out of nowhere and ate the damn thing. The Boy and I just sort of stared for a second and he said, "I guess we could have left him there."

I laughed out loud and said, "Sometimes life bites you in the butt like that buddy."

Yeah, two lessons in one shot. The first being the traditional, "Be nice and respect nature." The second being, "Even if you escape the whirling blades of death, there can always be something just as bad just waiting for its chance." I didn't articulate that second lesson that grimly for The Boy, but I think the sparrow did an awesome job of doing it for me.

The lawn looks great by the way.

 

Technorati Tags: Mower,moth,sparrow,whirling blades of death,sucks to be you

How to kill your IT Department + Kindergarten

A scene from the breakroom:

"Did you bring that in?"
I looked at the neatly sliced cake my colleague was pointing at and said, "Nope. What about Rich?"
He shook his head and said, "He's not in yet. Is Jeff in?"
I shook my head, "I haven't seen him...unless he went out on call already."
Joel shrugged and said, "I'll be back in a second when the coffee is done."
A few minutes pass and Joel comes back. He looks around and says, "Did you eat a piece?"
"Dude, it was sitting there underutilized. I had to."
"How is it?"
"Quite tasty."

The moral: you can wipe out your whole computing department with one well-placed and well-laced pastry. Well, except for the the one person who took a whole week off from sweets. That one person will end up wishing he or she had eaten the cake as well after all the support calls start rolling in.

You will be happy to know that there were no casualties. I took one for the team here by being the official taster for the day. I'm still waiting for that medal of valor.

---

On the kindergarten front, my son was a smidge weepy the first day, but he did well. He didn't want mommy to leave, so we did the whole 'daddy runs blocker while mommy bolts for the door' maneuver. It's a well practiced move and has served us well over the years. I did the requisite comforting and then passed to the teacher who did an awesome job. He was fine as soon as we passed from sight.

Day 2: I think he really could have cared less that we left. It was like he had grown up without even the big "Poof!" and puff of smoke. There was play-dough dammit. Bigger things were on the horizon...

Technorati Tags: children,kids,kindergarten,pastries,IT