Tag / kids

Parents of the Year

As you may know, I’m often hard on people for the way that they take care of their kids (or don’t as the case may be.) Normally, these stories involve feeding the kids paste and garbage or locking them in cages, things like that. Today, however, the story is a little different and it’s about… me.

Last Monday, Grace fell down on the front steps. After the initial bout of crying and my advisement to “rub some dirt on it!”, the crying subsided and she seemed fine. That night, however, she didn’t sleep very well. I ended up bringing her upstairs, where she lay next to me, laughing and messing with my ears. After an hour or so it was back to her own room.

The next morning, she complained that her arm hurt. I told her this sometimes happens in the morning when your arm is asleep. She rubbed some dirt on it and was fine. That night, she slept fitfully again. (The mystery deepens!)

The next morning, as she began to climb into her chair for breakfast, she complained that her arm hurt. We (finally) took 30 seconds to look closely at it…

“Hmmm… minor swelling, slightly bruised, tender to touch… what could it be? Crap! Her arm is broken!”

Four hours, three X-rays and two doctor’s offices later, the diagnosis was confirmed and she came home with a pretty pink cast.

That night, I withdrew our application for Parents of the Year.

"I’m Gonna Miss You, Daddy."

I always knew being a parent would be challenging. But I never expected this much of a challenge from a 2-1/2 year old.

Picture this: The car is fully loaded for the trip to Florida. Everything is in place except the kids. I’ve gotten Abby and Grace in the car and I’m working on getting them buckled. Having some difficulty, I resorted to threats:

“If you want to go to the beach, I need you to get in your seats,” says I.

Not much response.

“Listen guys, if you want to go with us, you’re going to have to get in your seats and get buckled.” Still no response. I decide to rephrase it.

“If you don’t get into your seats right now, we’re going to leave you at home by yourself.” This finally got their attention, though the response wasn’t what I intended.

Grace climbed out of the car, walked to the front porch, turned around and said, “I’m gonna miss you, Daddy.”

The Little Boy and the Old Man

Joel and Mary were in town a couple of weeks ago and they brought with them a present for Jack: “A Light In The Attic” by Shel Silverstein. I loved these poems when I was a kid and we’re enjoying them; it’s great fun to read about flying hippos, Whattifs who enter your head at night and Clarence Lee (who ordered new parents.)

But there are a few here that have a decidedly adult point of view and tell stories much deeper than most kids will realize. For example:

The Little Boy and the Old Man

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the little old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the little boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.

Lenten Resolutions

While riding in the car today with Lily (6)and Jack (4), we got to talking about Lenten resolutions. I asked Lily what her plans were.

“I’m giving up pouting,” she answered. “I’m also going to make my bed every day. And I’m going to pray at night and in the morning.”

“That’s good,” I responded. “How about you, Jack?”

“Can I think?” he asked. This is his standard phrase when he means to say “I’m thinking…”

After a minute or so he said, “Dad, I’m going to give up opening umbrellas in the house.” Lily began to reprimand him about that, telling him he’s supposed to give up something he does a little more often than once.

“I agree with Lily, Jack. Maybe you should give up something else, too,” I said. “Can you give up pouting?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Can you give up arguing with your sisters?”

“No,” he said, with a slight air of honesty and certainty.

I guess I’ll be satisfied with the umbrella thing.