Like all good egomaniacal parents of the 21st Century, I strive to mold AJ in my own image. I wax philosophical about the simple beauty of a line drive into the gap, thoughtful metaphors, power chords, tanned girls in sundresses, sarcasm, Bill Murray.
I force carefully nurture an appreciation for the joys of my own childhood and the obsessions of my more mature (*cough*) self. Not that I am a despot. I have indulged his many interests without complaint. Trucks, dinosaurs, Captain Underpants. But I was taken aback when he looked at me one day with a pained expression and said, “When are you going to take me fishing?”
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Tags: Fish in a Barrel, He Caught One, Trout Farms, Unfair Advantage
Filed under Parenting, children, fishing.
The runaway train that is my darling son turned seven years of age on Sunday. This is unimaginable to me. I am hamstrung by that trick of time, where his birth seems both like an event that just occurred and something that happened a million years ago.
Last night, we laid in bed and I told him about the night he was born. How Daddy rushed to the hospital from work, hyperventilating and with reckless disregard for existing traffic laws. How Mommy was placed in the overflow room because it was a busy day for babies. The dozen or so attempts to get the IV in Mommy’s paper-thin arteries. His relatively easy arrival (please hold your cards and letters as I am not at all unaware or unsympathetic to the rigors of birth, but, seriously, labor lasted just an hour and the first words out of his mother’s mouth upon AJs’ arrival were, “I could do that again”).
“More,” he said. Every detail.
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Tags: Memory Lane, You Like Me You Really Like Me
Filed under Fathers, Parenting, birthdays, children.
Later, after we’d been battered and stirred, pummeled and driven, two Fortysomethings in a sea of shirtless testosterone and second-hand cannabis, we sat on the soft lawn at Concerts on the Green and watched a little boy, about AJ’s age, dance with his Mom and another woman as the Stone Temple Pilots wound down their set on the stage at the other end of the venue.
The boy danced like boys do: no rhythm, all knees and elbows, pointing, somersaulting and throwing his goat horns, in the air, at passers-by, at the band.
By that time, our energies sapped and moshed upon, Rocked Out, the boy’s unbridled happiness was more interesting than the snaky movements of Scott Weiland and we simply watched him and smiled.
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Tags: Kids Rocking Out, San Diego, Stone Temple Pilots, Why Couldn't My Parents Take Me to See Zeppelin
Filed under Concerts, Music, children.
He strides right up to the young woman, a work colleague of his mother’s, and greets her with his arm out-streched, making eye contact. He shrugs off his child’s instinct to agree with his father, pausing before correcting me, “Yes…well, actually, no.” The way he walks, the languid gait of a poised athlete, damn near a strut, chin thrust and rolling shoulders. These traits I only now notice and how they inform the way he is.
He rides his scooter like he’s late. Hell bent for leather. Over speed bumps, down inclines, pumping furiously with no regard for his safety or my sanity.
Before my very eyes, the boy, my Baby AJ, is growing up.
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Tags: Growing Up, My Baby Boy, Time
Filed under Parenting, children.
Dear Offsprung,
It’s me AJ. This is what I’ve been doing with my summer.
Today we went to Jumping Jacks, which is inside and cool ’cause of the air conditioning. There are lots of big bouncy things to jump in and we ate pizza, which is way better than Daddy’s turkey sandwiches with fruit. I don’t care that he eats the same boring (I know, I know! Healthy!) stuff every day, but why do I have to?
This is my second week of Summer Day Camp. So far we’ve gone to Knott’s Berry Farm and the Water Park. Both were awesome, but we have to wear these yellow shirts that are, like, brighter than the sun and make me look jaundiced. The counselors say that is so they can see us, which doesn’t make any sense ’cause when you stare right at these shirts, like, your cornea gets scorched. It, like, spontaneously (hey, I’m almost 7, I know what “spontaneously” means) bursts into literal flame or somethin’. I’m not being hyperbolic (see “spontaneously”).
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Tags: AJ, Guest Post, I Only Helped With Spelling, Lackadaisical Hackery
Filed under Fathers, children.
“I know that voice,” I thought, hearing AJ’s mother on the other end of the phone. “I’m not going to like this.”
I dread that voice, so often has its inquiry ended up with me spitting venom and pacing around the apartment muttering to myself. Most of the time, she knew I was going raise a ruckus to her request, and her asking was, to her mind, a mere formality. She’d patiently listen to my concerns–or even my outright refusal–and then go ahead and do whatever the hell she wanted anyway.
We’ve moved past that point in our co-parenting relationship, but still…that voice.
“I have to ask you something,” she said.
“Yeeeees?”
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Tags: baseball game, decisions decisions, I hope my mom doesn't see this post until Saturday, Letting go, safety
Filed under Co-Parenting, Parenting, Step-Family, Step-Fathers.
Men (and boys) are genetically pre-disposed to remember, file and use–at their disrcretion and claim for their own–movie or television quotes whenever possible. One night, my friend Aloha Larry and I wagered on the number of times we could work a line from Caddyshack into conversations with women, the only rule being that it had to be at least somewhat in context.
Why yes, we did go home alone that evening. What makes you ask?
It is this trait, this knowledge, that allowed me to keep a completely straight face when AJ recently announced, in front of several other people (strangers, but other people nonetheless), “I like men now!”
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Tags: Mass Media robots, Pond would be good for you, Quoteable
Filed under Movies, Parenting, behavior, children.
AJ has been awfully patient with me and my new healthier attitude toward our diets. He merely shrugs when I served him pink meatloaf. He pretends to not even notice the whole grain bread. He enthusiastically cheers the edamame when I throw it in the shopping basket.
But we’re both at about the end of our rope with salmon and brown rice. So I’ve been trying to open up the palate a little on the days he’s with me.
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Tags: A Little Clogging of the Arteries is Okay, Baked Spaghetti, Comfort Food
Filed under Health, Parenting.
Playing games around our house is always an exercise fraught with peril. AJ is high-strung and competitive, just like his father was at that age. He not only wants to win all the time, he wants to dominate, play perfectly. If any of those goals goes awry, the potential for whining or tantrums or accusations of cheating, rise exponentially.
Getting him to accept defeat, to lose gracefully, has been a process. I’ve banned him from playing at any hint of a plaintive wail. I’ve held long talks about sportsmanship and staying focused, not letting the opponent, whether it be Daddy or a computer, make him play less than he is capable. With video games, I’ve assumed a complimentary, rather than competitive role. Whenever possible, I play on his team, together, instead of at odds.
It’s worked. We’ve not had any inconsolable crying jags lately. AJ has also found a new confidence. This weekend, he decided it was time to take off the training wheels. He challenged me to Wii baseball. As an opponent.
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Tags: baseball, Hemingway Puns, Losing to a 6-year-old, Old Man and the Wii, Pete Rose Jr. Excepted
Filed under Fathers, Parenting, video games.
My friend E was almost breathless as she shouted into the phone, “I’ve got a babysitter for Saturday night! Do you have AJ?”
I didn’t and it took us another 30 seconds to agree to hit the town like we used to, like we have frequently since we met nearly 20 years ago. It’s more difficult to get drunk and make bad decisions with kids at home, as you all know, and this would be E’s first night out since she gave birth to her daughter four-and-a-half months ago.
Remember that first night away from the baby?
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Tags: Cute Italian Babies, Parenting Whilst Tipsy, South Bay Watering Holes, Stress
Filed under Parenting.
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