The Bean wandered into the bathroom as I was brushing my teeth. He noticed a copy of Entertainment Weekly on the counter.
“That man is very handsome,” he said of the picture of Prince Charming from that show my wife inexplicably likes, Once Upon a Time. “He must be rich.”
“Does being handsome mean that you’re rich?” I asked.
“Well, one time Dr. Doofenshmirtz turned handsome and walked into a bank and they gave him two bags of money.”
Deciding not to repeat my “things in real life don’t work the way they do in cartoons” speech yet again, I opted for “uh-huh” as my response.
“Do you think I’m rich?” I asked.
“No dad,” said The Bean. “You don’t look like that.”
Showing posts with label the bean. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the bean. Show all posts
Friday, November 9, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
Nails, Part 3
Every morning, the first graders all swarm around me in the
morning holding out their fists. I’m not sure how I became the ringleader of these massive games of Rock, Paper,Scissors, but once the proverbial genie had been released it wasn’t going back in the bottle because it was having too much fun playing with the grown up before school began.
On this particular morning one of the fingernails of the hands playing was painted bright orange. In the midst of the action, one brash girl stopped so she could tell the boy who was attached to the orange fingers that it was “against the rules” for a boy to wear nail polish. She punctuated her proclamation with an authoritative, “My mom said so.” Another boy chirped that his mom also said that boys were not allowed to paint their nails—only girls.
The orange-nailed boy quietly slunk away.
As the father of a boy, who on occasion likes to paint his nails, I have some strong opinions on the subject. I told the objectionable kids that everybody has different rules and just because their moms told them one thing doesn’t mean it applies to everyone. It took a lot not to use phrases like “narrow minded” or worse when talking to those kids about their mothers.
The kids scattered to line up when the bell ran. I hugged the Bean, who had witnessed the whole thing, and reminded him that no matter what anyone else says it’s okay for anyone to paint their nails if they want to. I then scanned the area for the orange-nailed boy. I spotted him at the front of the line and worked my way around some errant kids to get to him. I tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned around I looked him in the eye and said, “Just so you know, I think your nails are awesome.”
He smiled as he went off to class.
On this particular morning one of the fingernails of the hands playing was painted bright orange. In the midst of the action, one brash girl stopped so she could tell the boy who was attached to the orange fingers that it was “against the rules” for a boy to wear nail polish. She punctuated her proclamation with an authoritative, “My mom said so.” Another boy chirped that his mom also said that boys were not allowed to paint their nails—only girls.
The orange-nailed boy quietly slunk away.
As the father of a boy, who on occasion likes to paint his nails, I have some strong opinions on the subject. I told the objectionable kids that everybody has different rules and just because their moms told them one thing doesn’t mean it applies to everyone. It took a lot not to use phrases like “narrow minded” or worse when talking to those kids about their mothers.
The kids scattered to line up when the bell ran. I hugged the Bean, who had witnessed the whole thing, and reminded him that no matter what anyone else says it’s okay for anyone to paint their nails if they want to. I then scanned the area for the orange-nailed boy. I spotted him at the front of the line and worked my way around some errant kids to get to him. I tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned around I looked him in the eye and said, “Just so you know, I think your nails are awesome.”
He smiled as he went off to class.
Friday, October 5, 2012
The Mini Moguls
The Bean knew exactly what his problem was. Legos cost money. A lot of money. And even though he was relatively new to math, his skills were sharp enough for him to figure out that it would take him a very long time to save up for that Ninjago set on his meager allowance. So the kid decided to get creative.
Driving up to the house one evening, I spotted the Bean and Sprout marching on the sidewalk, a few of their old toys scattered on the front lawn yelling, “Toys for sale! Get some toys! Only one dollar! Toys for sale!”
While I appreciated their moxie, there were a few holes in their plan. The first being that there is very little foot traffic in front of our house. The second is that it was a good bet that anyone who might be passing by probably wasn’t going to want a beat up truck or tattered doll.
For nearly 20 minutes, the kids paced back and forth yelling to get the attention of people who weren’t there. The Bean looked dejected as he trudged inside for his bath. Billy Mays he was not.
A few days later the Bean had another idea. He realized there was one thing a kid could do to earn a few bucks in the suburbs—a staple of childhood so familiar that it’s practically a cliché—lemonade stand!
A day was picked and a menu was planned. WonderWife™ asked the Bean to write a shopping list of all of ingredients they might need to sell lemonade and cookies. The kids helped juice the lemons and while they painted signs, WonderWife™ baked. To counter the foot traffic problem, WW™ suggested a spot a few blocks away in front of a post office. We posted the time and location of the stand on Facebook (because we are modern parents and both helplessly addicted to social media), loaded up the car, set up and watched as the kids went to work.
.JPG)
The Bean held up his homemade sign and danced around to attract customers with the natural aplomb and charisma of a street performer. He flipped the sign and shook his ass shouting, “Lemonade! Delicious lemonade!” despite that there was no way the cars zooming along the street could hear him. Sprout was a little meeker in her efforts, but following her brother’s lead she too hoisted her sign and yelled her little voice hoarse.
A few friends stopped by to patronize the sale, but most of the customers were folks from the neighborhood who couldn’t resist the sight of two sweaty kids hustling in the hot Valley sun. The generosity of our neighbors amazed and warmed us, as more than a few people stuffed extra money in the till telling the kids to “keep the change”. WonderWife™ and I helped pour glasses and make change when the math got a little too hard, but the kids did the majority of the work. And nearly two hours later, their supply of lemonade was depleted.
Over a celebratory meal of cheeseburgers we helped the kids count their profits. Incredibly, they each earned enough to buy the toy they wanted. We took them directly to the toy store so they could have the experience of handing over their hard-earned cash in exchange for prizes. Clutching his new Lego figures, the Bean declared it “the best day ever!”
I was incredibly proud of my kids, and made sure I told them so as I tucked them in that night. They worked hard and learned that earning money isn’t easy. But it can be extraordinarily rewarding—especially if you’re the parent of two entrepreneurial kids.
Driving up to the house one evening, I spotted the Bean and Sprout marching on the sidewalk, a few of their old toys scattered on the front lawn yelling, “Toys for sale! Get some toys! Only one dollar! Toys for sale!”
While I appreciated their moxie, there were a few holes in their plan. The first being that there is very little foot traffic in front of our house. The second is that it was a good bet that anyone who might be passing by probably wasn’t going to want a beat up truck or tattered doll.
For nearly 20 minutes, the kids paced back and forth yelling to get the attention of people who weren’t there. The Bean looked dejected as he trudged inside for his bath. Billy Mays he was not.
A few days later the Bean had another idea. He realized there was one thing a kid could do to earn a few bucks in the suburbs—a staple of childhood so familiar that it’s practically a cliché—lemonade stand!
A day was picked and a menu was planned. WonderWife™ asked the Bean to write a shopping list of all of ingredients they might need to sell lemonade and cookies. The kids helped juice the lemons and while they painted signs, WonderWife™ baked. To counter the foot traffic problem, WW™ suggested a spot a few blocks away in front of a post office. We posted the time and location of the stand on Facebook (because we are modern parents and both helplessly addicted to social media), loaded up the car, set up and watched as the kids went to work.
.JPG)
The Bean held up his homemade sign and danced around to attract customers with the natural aplomb and charisma of a street performer. He flipped the sign and shook his ass shouting, “Lemonade! Delicious lemonade!” despite that there was no way the cars zooming along the street could hear him. Sprout was a little meeker in her efforts, but following her brother’s lead she too hoisted her sign and yelled her little voice hoarse.
A few friends stopped by to patronize the sale, but most of the customers were folks from the neighborhood who couldn’t resist the sight of two sweaty kids hustling in the hot Valley sun. The generosity of our neighbors amazed and warmed us, as more than a few people stuffed extra money in the till telling the kids to “keep the change”. WonderWife™ and I helped pour glasses and make change when the math got a little too hard, but the kids did the majority of the work. And nearly two hours later, their supply of lemonade was depleted.
Over a celebratory meal of cheeseburgers we helped the kids count their profits. Incredibly, they each earned enough to buy the toy they wanted. We took them directly to the toy store so they could have the experience of handing over their hard-earned cash in exchange for prizes. Clutching his new Lego figures, the Bean declared it “the best day ever!”
I was incredibly proud of my kids, and made sure I told them so as I tucked them in that night. They worked hard and learned that earning money isn’t easy. But it can be extraordinarily rewarding—especially if you’re the parent of two entrepreneurial kids.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Arrgh! Tis a good day, me hearties!
Arrrrgh! September 19th is International Talk Like a Pirate Day so not only do tha Geek Boy family be talkin' like pirates all day, but I re-post the following audio treat from that scurvy dog, tha Bean (who was nearly 3 years-old at tha time).
Enjoy, me hearties!
Enjoy, me hearties!
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Kiss Ass
Sprout was being stubborn, her default position, and
refusing to brush her teeth. The
Bean was in the bathroom already, his vigorous scrubbing and foam covered mouth
giving him the appearance of a rabid animal. It had been an extraordinarily hot day in the Valley, as
they tend to be in August, and reserves of patience were in limited
supply.
Sprout sat on edge of the tub with the grin of a girl who
thought she was being cute. I
started with the calm approach but gradually worked my way up to full fledged
angry. She was deliberately stalling
and being cocky about it, a move that pushes nearly all of my buttons. Yelling soon gave way to a threat—the loss
of one of her prized toys. That
snapped her into action and soon she too had a mouth full of foam.
Meanwhile the Bean finished up his brushing, smiling the smile of a boy who was glad not to be in Dad’s line of fire. On the way out of the bathroom, he stopped to give me a hug.
“I love you, Daddy,” he said, drawing out the “love” in a sugary
sweet tone. “When it’s my
birthday, I don’t even need a present because I have you as my dad!”
He stood there, waiting for me to respond, waiting for me to
praise him for his compliment. The
sounds of Sprout’s sporadic teeth brushing were all too present amongst the
silence.
“Thank you,” I said after a deep breath. “Any chance you’re telling me this
because I’m yelling at your sister?”
“Uh huh,” he said as he practically skipped down the hall
into his bedroom.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Juvenile Guy Bonding
July was a cruel month for the Geek Boy family, resulting in me seeing the rest of the brood for literally three hours over the course of three weeks. At the end of it all, WonderWife™ needed some solitude and sanity and I desperately needed to reconnect with the kids. Thus the plans for a road trip were hatched. I loaded the kids into the ol’ Family Truckster* and we headed south to the San Diego Zoo.
It was a great whirlwind of a weekend that involved sightseeing, junk food, laughter, room service, swimming and inexplicably waking Daddy up at 5:45am. It was such a jam-packed outing that it took approximately 10 minutes into the drive home for both kids to pass out in the back seat.
The Bean began to stir 45 minutes later.
I was excited. "Buddy…Buddy,” I whispered trying to roust him out of his groggy state.
“What?”
“Look.” I pointed to a sight just over the horizon. “Keep watching that as we get closer.”
He leaned forward as much as his seat belt would allow and squinted. In a few minutes he smiled and suppressed a quiet giggle.
“Should we wake Sprout to see?” he asked.
“No. Let her sleep. This one’s just for you.”
This is what he saw**:
.JPG)
*In real life, the Truckster may more closely resemble a well-worn Camry.
**I am nothing if not predictable.
It was a great whirlwind of a weekend that involved sightseeing, junk food, laughter, room service, swimming and inexplicably waking Daddy up at 5:45am. It was such a jam-packed outing that it took approximately 10 minutes into the drive home for both kids to pass out in the back seat.
The Bean began to stir 45 minutes later.
I was excited. "Buddy…Buddy,” I whispered trying to roust him out of his groggy state.
“What?”
“Look.” I pointed to a sight just over the horizon. “Keep watching that as we get closer.”
He leaned forward as much as his seat belt would allow and squinted. In a few minutes he smiled and suppressed a quiet giggle.
“Should we wake Sprout to see?” he asked.
“No. Let her sleep. This one’s just for you.”
This is what he saw**:
.JPG)
*In real life, the Truckster may more closely resemble a well-worn Camry.
**I am nothing if not predictable.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Guy Talk
The Bean was in the bathtub when I got home from work. He was really happy to see me and launched into details about camp. Having drunk several cups of coffee and water throughout the day, followed by a marathon of afternoon meetings and a long drive home, I was in desperate need of relief. I closed the door and told the kid of my intentions to pee.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” he said. “I’ll turn away.”
“You don’t have to. We’re both guys. It’s okay.”
After the business at hand had begun the Bean said, “At camp after swimming today, my friends were talking about wieners.”
“Like with your guy friends?”
“Yeah, they were making jokes about wieners and…” The Bean got a guilty look on his face and stopped talking.
“What’s wrong?”
"Mom said I’m not allowed to say ‘wiener’.”
“Listen, when you’re with guys or your dad there are certain things you can say that you shouldn’t say in front of mom. It’s called guy talk. With me, ‘wiener’ is okay.“
The Bean soaked in that information before continuing to tell me the wiener jokes his friends made at camp.
I smiled realizing that this conversation is going to be very similar but very different when he’s 13.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” he said. “I’ll turn away.”
“You don’t have to. We’re both guys. It’s okay.”
After the business at hand had begun the Bean said, “At camp after swimming today, my friends were talking about wieners.”
“Like with your guy friends?”
“Yeah, they were making jokes about wieners and…” The Bean got a guilty look on his face and stopped talking.
“What’s wrong?”
"Mom said I’m not allowed to say ‘wiener’.”
“Listen, when you’re with guys or your dad there are certain things you can say that you shouldn’t say in front of mom. It’s called guy talk. With me, ‘wiener’ is okay.“
The Bean soaked in that information before continuing to tell me the wiener jokes his friends made at camp.
I smiled realizing that this conversation is going to be very similar but very different when he’s 13.
Monday, May 7, 2012
This Story Does Not Make Me Look Good
The Bean has hated getting water in his eyes since he was
old enough to sit up in the bath.
To this very day, he complains whenever he gets splashed while
bathing. Though he doesn’t seem to
have this problem when he’s swimming.
I don’t know why, but this has always bothered me. I guess that getting splashed in the
eye is one of those details that is so minor to me it should be minor to
him. I mean it’s just water. And he couldn't be complaining about shampoo in his eyes because
it’s not supposed to sting. It
says so right on the bottle. His sister even confirmed that it didn't hurt.
I was giving the Bean his bath when water splashed in his
face. As per his custom, he
freaked out and asked for a rag to wipe his eyes. Even though the rags were in a container that was literally
right outside of the bathroom door, I rejected his request. I’m not sure what compelled me to do
this. Ignoring the fact that he's six, I wanted him to stop being so dramatic over a little water. I figured in a minute he'd forget about his eye and continue on with his washing. Hee began to get really
upset—the screaming, red-eyed, nose-running, sloppy sobbing kind of upset. Instead of nurturing the problem that I
created and getting the boy a rag, I made it worse by calmly telling him to stop crying. The sobbing continued all the way through the bath
and only calmed down after a hug from his mom and some Ninjago.
I felt really shitty about it.
At bedtime, I tucked the Bean under his covers and sat down
on the bed.
I inhaled deeply and said, “In the bath tonight, you asked
for a rag to wipe your eye and I didn’t give it to you. I was wrong and I’m sorry. I should have given you what you were
asking for and the next time I will.”
The Bean looked visibly relieved and a slight smile crept on
his face. We hugged. We kissed. We were good again.
And I walked out of his room learning a very valuable lesson—if it’s
important to him, it doesn’t matter if it’s not important to me.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Holding Hands
I panicked for a moment that I was not holding the Bean’s hand on the escalator, forgetting that he’s old enough to ride it by himself. This was followed by the sharp shot of melancholy that accompanies the realization that your kid is growing up. The Bean no longer needs to hold my hand while crossing the street or in a parking lot.
Sometimes he will take my hand out of habit and I enjoy the feeling of being connected with my first born as we walk. Sometimes he too forgets that he doesn’t need to hold on to me and clasps his hand with mine for a moment before letting go.
It’s only a matter of time before he stops taking my hand altogether. It will be added to the list of things that I miss, along with carrying him on my shoulders and tossing him up in the air.
It’s wonderful to see my son grow up. But there are times when I long for the little boy he used to be. Letting go of his hand is only the beginning.
Sometimes he will take my hand out of habit and I enjoy the feeling of being connected with my first born as we walk. Sometimes he too forgets that he doesn’t need to hold on to me and clasps his hand with mine for a moment before letting go.
It’s only a matter of time before he stops taking my hand altogether. It will be added to the list of things that I miss, along with carrying him on my shoulders and tossing him up in the air.
It’s wonderful to see my son grow up. But there are times when I long for the little boy he used to be. Letting go of his hand is only the beginning.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The Wit and Wisdom of the Bean: Volume 8
After rejecting being taught how to tell time after getting a watch: “I don’t need to know how to tell time with a watch!” (12/11)
The Bean: Can you get me the cereal?
DGB: Who am I, your butler?
The Bean: (pointing) Hey everybody, this old man said booty! (1/12)
At a hockey game: "Why do they say 'go Kings go? They don't move." (1/12)
The Bean: This watch makes me look fancy.
DGB: Oh, you want to look fancy?
The Bean: Duh, I'm a boy! (1/12)
“School is so worky!” (10/11)
“I keep thinking, why am I me? It’s hard to explain. Why am I me? I don’t even remember being in mommy’s tummy.” (11/11)
WonderWife™: Why weren’t you wearing underwear?
The Bean: Because it was Wednesday. (11/11)
"I smell stinky chocolate, or is it my feet?" (12/11)
The Bean: "I expected Disney World to look more like Mexico."* (12/11)
The Bean: Those things are in a force shield
WonderWife™: A force field.
The Bean: No, a force shield! (1/12)
The Bean: Aki. Aki ya.
DGB: What are you doing?
The Bean: Speaking Spanish.
DGB: That's not Spanish.
The Bean: I know!! (4/12)
*He's never been close to Mexico.
Past Wisdom:
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Volume 6
Holiday Edition
Valentine's Day Edition
Volume 7
The Bean: Can you get me the cereal?
DGB: Who am I, your butler?
The Bean: (pointing) Hey everybody, this old man said booty! (1/12)
At a hockey game: "Why do they say 'go Kings go? They don't move." (1/12)
The Bean: This watch makes me look fancy.
DGB: Oh, you want to look fancy?
The Bean: Duh, I'm a boy! (1/12)
“School is so worky!” (10/11)
“I keep thinking, why am I me? It’s hard to explain. Why am I me? I don’t even remember being in mommy’s tummy.” (11/11)
WonderWife™: Why weren’t you wearing underwear?
The Bean: Because it was Wednesday. (11/11)
"I smell stinky chocolate, or is it my feet?" (12/11)
The Bean: "I expected Disney World to look more like Mexico."* (12/11)
The Bean: Those things are in a force shield
WonderWife™: A force field.
The Bean: No, a force shield! (1/12)
The Bean: Aki. Aki ya.
DGB: What are you doing?
The Bean: Speaking Spanish.
DGB: That's not Spanish.
The Bean: I know!! (4/12)
*He's never been close to Mexico.
Past Wisdom:
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Volume 6
Holiday Edition
Valentine's Day Edition
Volume 7
Friday, March 23, 2012
He Ski
“I want to be there now!” the boy said brimming with excitement. “It’s the afternoon already.”
Actually it was 8:30 in the morning. But since the Bean and I had only been awake for 2 hours and an hour and a half of that was spent in the car, I couldn’t blame him for being somewhat confused. We had gotten an early start on our way to the mountains. Today was the day I was going to introduce the Bean to skiing.
I am a terrible athlete. I can barely throw and I have been literally laughed at by my closest friends while playing basketball. But despite all of this somehow I have emerged a decent skier. (Back before I had kids, when I used to hit the slopes on a regular basis, I was actually a really good skier.) Skiing ranks up there with roller coasters and going to the movies as one of my favorite things to do. Of course like roller coasters and movies, my chosen partner in crime, WonderWife™, has no interest in it. This is why I’ve been not so secretly hatching a plan to get at least one of my kids into ski. And since the Bean is the oldest, he was lucky enough to try first.
In order for this plan to work, I had to be smart and patient. The Bean hasn’t always taken to new things, especially ones that require practice when you’re a noob (just ask WonderWife™ who’s been an unfortunate spectator when the kid first started playing Lego Batman). While some kids start skiing as young as 3 or 4, I knew that I needed to wait a bit longer. I couldn’t just shove him in ski pants, plop him on a mountain and expect him to like it just because I want him to. I’d have to strike at the right time. Thankfully, this past summer the Bean started asking about snow. He wanted to go to the mountains and have a snowball fight. When the weather turned cold, I told the Bean I was going to take him to snow and take him skiing. He was excited and we were off to a good start.
On the way up to the mountain, I reminded the Bean that he was not going to be a very good skier at first. He was going to spend a lot of time falling down. He was okay with this—mostly because when he plays the We Ski video game he loves making his avatar crash into things. I also reminded him that falling in real life may be a bit more painful than when done virtually.
We rented his equipment and I stuffed his feet into his ski boots. I tried not to laugh as he struggled to walk in the clunky gear. He didn’t find it funny. We had an hour before his lesson so I took him to a flat section near the base of the slopes and showed him how to get into his skiis. Pretty much immediately he was on his ass. A lot of frustrated yelling was soon hurled my way and I quickly realized that although I know how to ski myself, I had no idea who to teach somebody to do it. We soon gave up skiing in order to have the snowball fight he so desperately wanted.
I dropped the Bean off with the ski instructor and made my way to the lodge where stood with the beauty of a mirage in the desert a patio that overlooked the bunny slope next to a bar. I ordered a brew and covertly watched my boy learn “pizza.” It wasn’t long before he took a small run, his instructor in tow. Near the end of his lesson, he was turning by himself. I beamed with pride, suppressing the urge to point out my kid to the rest of the bar patrons.
I was standing at the top of the moving carpet lift when the Bean crested the hill. He saw me and through the biggest smile he could muster said, “I love this! I want to do it more!”
It seemed my plan had worked. Sadly, the Bean will have to wait another year to ski again. Jelly legs prevented us from taking any more runs that day and there is a painfully limited window of opportunity to ski in Southern California as the season is so short. But rest assured, as soon as the next snow falls I will be making the trek with my young Padawan to the mountains to continue his training.
Actually it was 8:30 in the morning. But since the Bean and I had only been awake for 2 hours and an hour and a half of that was spent in the car, I couldn’t blame him for being somewhat confused. We had gotten an early start on our way to the mountains. Today was the day I was going to introduce the Bean to skiing.
I am a terrible athlete. I can barely throw and I have been literally laughed at by my closest friends while playing basketball. But despite all of this somehow I have emerged a decent skier. (Back before I had kids, when I used to hit the slopes on a regular basis, I was actually a really good skier.) Skiing ranks up there with roller coasters and going to the movies as one of my favorite things to do. Of course like roller coasters and movies, my chosen partner in crime, WonderWife™, has no interest in it. This is why I’ve been not so secretly hatching a plan to get at least one of my kids into ski. And since the Bean is the oldest, he was lucky enough to try first.
In order for this plan to work, I had to be smart and patient. The Bean hasn’t always taken to new things, especially ones that require practice when you’re a noob (just ask WonderWife™ who’s been an unfortunate spectator when the kid first started playing Lego Batman). While some kids start skiing as young as 3 or 4, I knew that I needed to wait a bit longer. I couldn’t just shove him in ski pants, plop him on a mountain and expect him to like it just because I want him to. I’d have to strike at the right time. Thankfully, this past summer the Bean started asking about snow. He wanted to go to the mountains and have a snowball fight. When the weather turned cold, I told the Bean I was going to take him to snow and take him skiing. He was excited and we were off to a good start.
On the way up to the mountain, I reminded the Bean that he was not going to be a very good skier at first. He was going to spend a lot of time falling down. He was okay with this—mostly because when he plays the We Ski video game he loves making his avatar crash into things. I also reminded him that falling in real life may be a bit more painful than when done virtually.
We rented his equipment and I stuffed his feet into his ski boots. I tried not to laugh as he struggled to walk in the clunky gear. He didn’t find it funny. We had an hour before his lesson so I took him to a flat section near the base of the slopes and showed him how to get into his skiis. Pretty much immediately he was on his ass. A lot of frustrated yelling was soon hurled my way and I quickly realized that although I know how to ski myself, I had no idea who to teach somebody to do it. We soon gave up skiing in order to have the snowball fight he so desperately wanted.
I dropped the Bean off with the ski instructor and made my way to the lodge where stood with the beauty of a mirage in the desert a patio that overlooked the bunny slope next to a bar. I ordered a brew and covertly watched my boy learn “pizza.” It wasn’t long before he took a small run, his instructor in tow. Near the end of his lesson, he was turning by himself. I beamed with pride, suppressing the urge to point out my kid to the rest of the bar patrons.
I was standing at the top of the moving carpet lift when the Bean crested the hill. He saw me and through the biggest smile he could muster said, “I love this! I want to do it more!”
It seemed my plan had worked. Sadly, the Bean will have to wait another year to ski again. Jelly legs prevented us from taking any more runs that day and there is a painfully limited window of opportunity to ski in Southern California as the season is so short. But rest assured, as soon as the next snow falls I will be making the trek with my young Padawan to the mountains to continue his training.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
The Cow
It had been a long day at work and a long day at home. I was starving by the time the kids were corralled, bathed, dressed and put to bed. Thankfully WonderWife™ had a plate of that night’s dinner waiting for me in the fridge. Peeling back the foil I discovered chicken and pasta in a béchamel sauce (that’s white sauce for all of you non-Food Network addicts out there). It might have looked monochromatic, but it was tasty.
I had just hunkered down in front of the TV digging into the meal when the Bean emerged from his bedroom.
WonderWife™ and I turned our heads and said, “Go to bed!” with the precision of a pair of synchronized swimmers.
“But, but…” the Bean stammered. “But I need to tell Dad about the cow.”
Apparently livestock was brought to the Bean’s school as a teaching aid. It was clear that the Bean was not going to even attempt to sleep until his story was told.
“Go ahead,” I said shoving another forkful of dinner into my mouth.
His eyes lit up. “Did you know that a cow has four sections in his stomach? And that it eats food and it goes into the first part of the stomach and gets moistened and then it goes back into the mouth and chews it again and it goes through all four of the stomachs.”
I looked down at my dinner plate, chunks of chicken and pasta covered in that creamy sticky white sauce that didn’t seem as appetizing as it had moments ago. I realized that I was still chewing my last bite of food.
“Then the cow peed and we all laughed,” the Bean said gleefully.
He was beaming, waiting for my response. I slowly swallowed.
“Thank you for that enlightening dinner conversation,” I said. “Now please go to bed.”
I had just hunkered down in front of the TV digging into the meal when the Bean emerged from his bedroom.
WonderWife™ and I turned our heads and said, “Go to bed!” with the precision of a pair of synchronized swimmers.
“But, but…” the Bean stammered. “But I need to tell Dad about the cow.”
Apparently livestock was brought to the Bean’s school as a teaching aid. It was clear that the Bean was not going to even attempt to sleep until his story was told.
“Go ahead,” I said shoving another forkful of dinner into my mouth.
His eyes lit up. “Did you know that a cow has four sections in his stomach? And that it eats food and it goes into the first part of the stomach and gets moistened and then it goes back into the mouth and chews it again and it goes through all four of the stomachs.”
I looked down at my dinner plate, chunks of chicken and pasta covered in that creamy sticky white sauce that didn’t seem as appetizing as it had moments ago. I realized that I was still chewing my last bite of food.
“Then the cow peed and we all laughed,” the Bean said gleefully.
He was beaming, waiting for my response. I slowly swallowed.
“Thank you for that enlightening dinner conversation,” I said. “Now please go to bed.”
Thursday, February 23, 2012
After
It was hard to tell where the body was buried. The only clue was the small pile of loose dirt that all but blended into the debris that surrounded it. I held my children’s hands as we stood in a circle around the grave. We were there to say goodbye to our pet.
The Bean was adamant with his suggestion that we mark the occasion by reciting “The Plegible Legions.”* With no better ideas on the table, we did it. In the middle of it WonderWife™ and I caught each other’s gaze. The emotions of the past few days mixed with the absurdity of the moment and we couldn’t keep ourselves from laughing.
The kids had handled the news that their pet was being put to sleep remarkably well, all things considered. WonderWife™ and I had planned for the conversation with the precision of a military strike. We decided not to pull any punches with them. We would not invent wild fantasies to disguise the truth with sugary sweetness. There would be no talk of kitty heaven. We planned for lots of tears and lots of questions. Both were in plentiful supply.
That morning, the Bean said his final goodbyes to his cat and left for school. Sprout didn’t have pre-school that day, so my job was to plan a morning of activities that would distract her while WonderWife™ took care of the unpleasantries. While it was hard to plaster a happy look on my face to keep my daughter focused on playing, I knew that my wife was dealing with the way more difficult task.
That afternoon, we sat shiva. WW™ made a pie and we lit candles and said a few nice words about our departed cat. After the sugar worked its way into the Bean’s system, he declared the day “the best ever!”, oddly seeming to forget that a just few moments earlier we stood over the grave of our companion performing an inappropriate eulogy. It didn’t matter. The tension had been broken.
*Say it out loud.
The Bean was adamant with his suggestion that we mark the occasion by reciting “The Plegible Legions.”* With no better ideas on the table, we did it. In the middle of it WonderWife™ and I caught each other’s gaze. The emotions of the past few days mixed with the absurdity of the moment and we couldn’t keep ourselves from laughing.
The kids had handled the news that their pet was being put to sleep remarkably well, all things considered. WonderWife™ and I had planned for the conversation with the precision of a military strike. We decided not to pull any punches with them. We would not invent wild fantasies to disguise the truth with sugary sweetness. There would be no talk of kitty heaven. We planned for lots of tears and lots of questions. Both were in plentiful supply.
That morning, the Bean said his final goodbyes to his cat and left for school. Sprout didn’t have pre-school that day, so my job was to plan a morning of activities that would distract her while WonderWife™ took care of the unpleasantries. While it was hard to plaster a happy look on my face to keep my daughter focused on playing, I knew that my wife was dealing with the way more difficult task.
That afternoon, we sat shiva. WW™ made a pie and we lit candles and said a few nice words about our departed cat. After the sugar worked its way into the Bean’s system, he declared the day “the best ever!”, oddly seeming to forget that a just few moments earlier we stood over the grave of our companion performing an inappropriate eulogy. It didn’t matter. The tension had been broken.
*Say it out loud.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Gender Observations
After spending a good portion of the evening piecing together his new Lego Y-Wing Fighter, the Bean was eager to play with me. He quickly fashioned a crude Lego ship for me to pilot and the space battle commenced. Midway through our aerial skirmish, Sprout slid into my lap, new doll in hand, and also wanted to play. While the Bean was busy dive-bombing my ship, Sprout’s doll complimented my Lego guy’s outfit and asked if I wanted to help cook breakfast. I attempted to land my ship at her dollhouse table, but was under heavy fire from the Y-Wing. Unfortunately, Sprout’s dollhouse took some friendly fire and breakfast was never cooked.
I was fortunate enough to be one of two people who attended the marriage of Strawberry Shortcake and Lemon Meringue (aka “Lemon Girl”). The surprisingly short ceremony took place on the floor of Sprout’s room and was officiated by Sprout herself. The dolls walked down the aisle, were complimented on their hair by Sprout and made to give each other a hug and a kiss. Afterwards Strawberry Shortcake made Lemon Girl soup because she was feeling sick.
Over a rare leisurely brunch with some friends, the topic of boys and girls came up. The couple has two girls, but the husband clearly wished he had a boy in his life to balance the scales. As we discussed what life was like with a boy in the house--including, but not limited to: destruction, running around like a 55 lb. wrecking ball, constantly jumping on the furniture (and my back), the ever present very loud noises and screaming, smelly feet, excessive gas… As their girls quietly played with Sprout on the floor, the husband peered at the Bean and looked a little pallid.
The Bean is no longer allowed to play Mario Kart right before bed. He cannot contain himself when he plays, tapping his feet and bouncing on the couch like the Lord of the Dance after a few Red Bulls. The rush of adrenaline causes him to sweat profusely, dampening his just-washed body and clean pajamas and making sleep nearly impossible to attain. We have noticed that this phenomenon is not limited solely to the Bean. While gorging on an afternoon feast of Mario Kart with a friend, both boys were unable to stop squirming while they played.
Upon saying goodbye to his friend, the Bean in a surprisingly effective move swept the boy’s leg like a Cobra Kai and talked him. They continued to flop around on the floor with a ferocity that belied their friendship. The kid’s dad and I just looked at each other and shrugged. Off in the corner, Sprout played with her dolls, either unaffected or decidedly ignoring the rambunctiousness of brother.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I was fortunate enough to be one of two people who attended the marriage of Strawberry Shortcake and Lemon Meringue (aka “Lemon Girl”). The surprisingly short ceremony took place on the floor of Sprout’s room and was officiated by Sprout herself. The dolls walked down the aisle, were complimented on their hair by Sprout and made to give each other a hug and a kiss. Afterwards Strawberry Shortcake made Lemon Girl soup because she was feeling sick.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Over a rare leisurely brunch with some friends, the topic of boys and girls came up. The couple has two girls, but the husband clearly wished he had a boy in his life to balance the scales. As we discussed what life was like with a boy in the house--including, but not limited to: destruction, running around like a 55 lb. wrecking ball, constantly jumping on the furniture (and my back), the ever present very loud noises and screaming, smelly feet, excessive gas… As their girls quietly played with Sprout on the floor, the husband peered at the Bean and looked a little pallid.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The Bean is no longer allowed to play Mario Kart right before bed. He cannot contain himself when he plays, tapping his feet and bouncing on the couch like the Lord of the Dance after a few Red Bulls. The rush of adrenaline causes him to sweat profusely, dampening his just-washed body and clean pajamas and making sleep nearly impossible to attain. We have noticed that this phenomenon is not limited solely to the Bean. While gorging on an afternoon feast of Mario Kart with a friend, both boys were unable to stop squirming while they played.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Upon saying goodbye to his friend, the Bean in a surprisingly effective move swept the boy’s leg like a Cobra Kai and talked him. They continued to flop around on the floor with a ferocity that belied their friendship. The kid’s dad and I just looked at each other and shrugged. Off in the corner, Sprout played with her dolls, either unaffected or decidedly ignoring the rambunctiousness of brother.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Not Funny
It's time for my sabbatical to end. I didn't plan on taking such an extended leave of absence from the blog, but after the craziness and chaos of the year I found that once I shut off my brain it was hard to turn it back on. Thus began the longest break I've taken since this thing began. To be honest, it felt good to check out for a while. I've made no secret of the extensive amount of traveling I did in 2011, which all in all amounted to 2½ months combined. It was important to me that I spend the holidays re-connecting with my family. And while my time off was filled with laughter, bonding and a metric ton of presents, the unimaginable happened.
WonderWife™ always says that marriage is a repeat. After 11 years together, she's heard my schtick many times over. Even my A material causes groans and eye rolls from her. (Though let's be honest, my A material is really at best a B.) So am forced to endure her scorn, criticism or just plain apathy at my attempts at humor. But that was okay because there was my son, my clone, who had an appreciation for his corny dad.
Perhaps it was all of the time he spent with me during my time off or maybe it was the highs and lows of the dual adrenaline rushes of Hanukkah and his birthday that led him to this moment, but somewhere during the end of the year the Bean grew weary of my humor.
During a phone conversation I made some joke. It doesn’t really matter what it was, just know that it was of the cheesy variety and squarely aimed at his 6 year old sensibility. But upon hearing it the Bean paused and said, “That’s not funny, Dad.”
And that was it. My son now joins my wife, my friends and my co-workers in the list of people who endure, but don’t enjoy, my bad jokes.
Sigh.
At least there’s still the girl.
WonderWife™ always says that marriage is a repeat. After 11 years together, she's heard my schtick many times over. Even my A material causes groans and eye rolls from her. (Though let's be honest, my A material is really at best a B.) So am forced to endure her scorn, criticism or just plain apathy at my attempts at humor. But that was okay because there was my son, my clone, who had an appreciation for his corny dad.
Perhaps it was all of the time he spent with me during my time off or maybe it was the highs and lows of the dual adrenaline rushes of Hanukkah and his birthday that led him to this moment, but somewhere during the end of the year the Bean grew weary of my humor.
During a phone conversation I made some joke. It doesn’t really matter what it was, just know that it was of the cheesy variety and squarely aimed at his 6 year old sensibility. But upon hearing it the Bean paused and said, “That’s not funny, Dad.”
And that was it. My son now joins my wife, my friends and my co-workers in the list of people who endure, but don’t enjoy, my bad jokes.
Sigh.
At least there’s still the girl.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Ghost Train
There were a few hundred people lined up outside the entrance to the train yard. Stupidly, it had never occurred to me that a spooky ghost train ride running for a scant few nights around Halloween in a big city like Los Angeles might attract a crowd. So the Bean and I would just have to wait it out. This was the first sign of trouble.
The Bean’s excitement at riding the train carried us through for a little while. He had spent the majority of the day exclaiming, “Oooh, I can’t wait! I can’t wait!” (I was pretty excited about it too.) The Bean was also curious about being up past his bedtime. He didn’t yet have a solid grasp of time, so as we waited the conversation went like this:
The Bean: If we were at home, what would I be doing right now?
Me: You would be in the bath, complaining about having to wash instead of getting to play.
(Five minutes later…)
The Bean: What would I be doing now?
Me: You would be drying yourself off and running naked around the house, refusing to put on your pajamas.
(Five minutes later…)
The Bean: What would I be doing now?
Me: You’d be halfway through your first game of Mario Kart, bouncing around on the couch like a maniac and whining that you weren’t winning.
Twenty minutes went by and we had barely moved. Since we were now officially past the Bean’s bedtime, our conversation had subsided. He remained excited about the train ride, but was getting a little antsy. I didn’t have anything for the Bean to do but watch the kids who’s smart parents had brought glowsticks and lightsabers. I attempted to keep the kid busy by “timing” how fast he could run to a nearby tree and back. That didn’t last for very long.
It took us an hour before we reached the entrance to the train yard. The Bean was growing tired, but was steadfast in his wanting to ride the train. Then I noticed the second sign of trouble: what was usually a small straight line from the ticket booth to the train was now an unruly queue made up of a couple hundred people that snaked back and forth four times. Though he was deflated and yawning consistently, the Bean insisted that we stay. At least inside the yard there were Halloween decorations to look at.
We slowly moved our way past one of the displays that turned out to be the third sign of trouble: a mannequin bathed in a black light with a woman’s face projected on to it hung on a wall, creating a ghostly visage. It was a cheaper version of the effect used to bring Madam Leola to life in the Haunted Mansion. And even though the Bean had been in the Haunted Mansion a plethora of times with absolutely no problem, this freaked his head off. I tried to diffuse the situation by showing him the projector and telling him how the trick was done but the Bean was still afraid. At this point, we had been waiting for nearly an hour and a half.
As we zigged and zagged through the line, the Bean alternately complained about being scared and being tired. I asked him if he wanted to go and he gave a sharp, firm no. He was going to ride that train. Then he spied a picture that was projected onto a makeshift frame hung above the train platform. It was an old-timey person that slowly transformed into a zombie—another trick he’d seen at Disneyland that wigged him out here. He slid behind me and covered his eyes.
I became convinced that the ghost train was going to break my son. I mean here was a kid who claimed to have gotten spooked by a scene from Dinosaur Train. I gave the Bean every out imaginable. Yet the kid was determined to let anything keep him from riding the train that night. I wondered how long it would take me to save up for his therapy bills.
We had been waiting for two hours by the time we reached the front of the line. The Bean was practically asleep on his feet suddenly became excited boarding the train. I, on the other had, was incredibly nervous.
Thankfully the ride was fairly mild, favoring goofy scares over true horror. And even though there were some images a little more severe than not-Madame Leola, the Bean wasn’t bothered by any of it and we both had a spooky good time. Even though it was two hours past the Bean’s bedtime, the ride acted like a caffeine shot and he was bouncing all over the place after we arrived home, unable to contain his excitement as he told his mom of his adventure on the Ghost Train.
The Bean’s excitement at riding the train carried us through for a little while. He had spent the majority of the day exclaiming, “Oooh, I can’t wait! I can’t wait!” (I was pretty excited about it too.) The Bean was also curious about being up past his bedtime. He didn’t yet have a solid grasp of time, so as we waited the conversation went like this:
The Bean: If we were at home, what would I be doing right now?
Me: You would be in the bath, complaining about having to wash instead of getting to play.
(Five minutes later…)
The Bean: What would I be doing now?
Me: You would be drying yourself off and running naked around the house, refusing to put on your pajamas.
(Five minutes later…)
The Bean: What would I be doing now?
Me: You’d be halfway through your first game of Mario Kart, bouncing around on the couch like a maniac and whining that you weren’t winning.
Twenty minutes went by and we had barely moved. Since we were now officially past the Bean’s bedtime, our conversation had subsided. He remained excited about the train ride, but was getting a little antsy. I didn’t have anything for the Bean to do but watch the kids who’s smart parents had brought glowsticks and lightsabers. I attempted to keep the kid busy by “timing” how fast he could run to a nearby tree and back. That didn’t last for very long.
It took us an hour before we reached the entrance to the train yard. The Bean was growing tired, but was steadfast in his wanting to ride the train. Then I noticed the second sign of trouble: what was usually a small straight line from the ticket booth to the train was now an unruly queue made up of a couple hundred people that snaked back and forth four times. Though he was deflated and yawning consistently, the Bean insisted that we stay. At least inside the yard there were Halloween decorations to look at.
We slowly moved our way past one of the displays that turned out to be the third sign of trouble: a mannequin bathed in a black light with a woman’s face projected on to it hung on a wall, creating a ghostly visage. It was a cheaper version of the effect used to bring Madam Leola to life in the Haunted Mansion. And even though the Bean had been in the Haunted Mansion a plethora of times with absolutely no problem, this freaked his head off. I tried to diffuse the situation by showing him the projector and telling him how the trick was done but the Bean was still afraid. At this point, we had been waiting for nearly an hour and a half.
As we zigged and zagged through the line, the Bean alternately complained about being scared and being tired. I asked him if he wanted to go and he gave a sharp, firm no. He was going to ride that train. Then he spied a picture that was projected onto a makeshift frame hung above the train platform. It was an old-timey person that slowly transformed into a zombie—another trick he’d seen at Disneyland that wigged him out here. He slid behind me and covered his eyes.
I became convinced that the ghost train was going to break my son. I mean here was a kid who claimed to have gotten spooked by a scene from Dinosaur Train. I gave the Bean every out imaginable. Yet the kid was determined to let anything keep him from riding the train that night. I wondered how long it would take me to save up for his therapy bills.
We had been waiting for two hours by the time we reached the front of the line. The Bean was practically asleep on his feet suddenly became excited boarding the train. I, on the other had, was incredibly nervous.
Thankfully the ride was fairly mild, favoring goofy scares over true horror. And even though there were some images a little more severe than not-Madame Leola, the Bean wasn’t bothered by any of it and we both had a spooky good time. Even though it was two hours past the Bean’s bedtime, the ride acted like a caffeine shot and he was bouncing all over the place after we arrived home, unable to contain his excitement as he told his mom of his adventure on the Ghost Train.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Musings At Bedtime
Amongst the students enrolled in Sprout’s pre-school class, there is a bear. Peyton is a fluffy, light brown stuffed animal. His neck is adorned with a big red bow. Like a slacker who spends his first year out of college surfing the couches of his friends, Peyton goes home with a new student every few days. The kid is meant to care of the bear and report all of Peyton’s adventures back to the class upon his return. This weekend was Sprout’s turn.
Sprout took her role as Peyton’s caregiver very seriously. With the exception of her bath, Sprout kept Peyton by her side for the entire evening—even bringing his special blanket into bed with her so Peyton wouldn’t get cold.
Not so deep inside that rambunctious, precocious, stubborn little girl of mine is a very sweet, nurturing person.
Something unexpected happened while tucking the Bean into bed for the past two nights. The routine started out the familiar way, with stories (currently the 7th reading of Diary of a Wimpy Kid). I got up to read and turn off the lights. The Bean didn’t ask for it (it being me singing Mary Had a Little Lamb while spraying “scary spray” in each corner of the room. I decided to make a test of it and didn’t mention it. In the past when I’d forgotten to sing, the Bean would come out of his room a few minutes later and let me know my error. Time passed and he didn’t come out. The next night, same thing: I didn’t sing. He didn’t ask.
It could very well be that my boy is growing up.
Sprout took her role as Peyton’s caregiver very seriously. With the exception of her bath, Sprout kept Peyton by her side for the entire evening—even bringing his special blanket into bed with her so Peyton wouldn’t get cold.
Not so deep inside that rambunctious, precocious, stubborn little girl of mine is a very sweet, nurturing person.
___________________________________
Something unexpected happened while tucking the Bean into bed for the past two nights. The routine started out the familiar way, with stories (currently the 7th reading of Diary of a Wimpy Kid). I got up to read and turn off the lights. The Bean didn’t ask for it (it being me singing Mary Had a Little Lamb while spraying “scary spray” in each corner of the room. I decided to make a test of it and didn’t mention it. In the past when I’d forgotten to sing, the Bean would come out of his room a few minutes later and let me know my error. Time passed and he didn’t come out. The next night, same thing: I didn’t sing. He didn’t ask.
It could very well be that my boy is growing up.
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Wit and Wisdom of the Bean: Volume 7
Just because the Bean is getting older doesn't mean he's going to stop dropping knowledge on us like Zeus drops lightening...
After getting very angry: "[At my birthday party] I’m going to give you a goody bag with boring stuff. It’s going to have rice. It’s going to have a knife. A pie in the face. A pie in the ear and muddy water that will go on your wiener. Can I say wiener?" (4/11)
"How big is ‘yea’ big anyway?" (4/11)
"I have a penis and my penis wiggles." (4/11)
Me: "How many hours in a day?"
The Bean: "What season are we talking about?" (6/11)
"You’re not winning you know, you’re just in first place." (7/11)
"This hole where my tooth used to be is like a door into my mouth." (7/11)
"If you have an anchor tattoo, that means you’re really strong." (8/11)
Upon getting a bag of Skittles: "I got some S&M’s!!" (9/11)
Past Wisdom:
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Volume 6
Holiday Edition
Valentine's Day Edition
After getting very angry: "[At my birthday party] I’m going to give you a goody bag with boring stuff. It’s going to have rice. It’s going to have a knife. A pie in the face. A pie in the ear and muddy water that will go on your wiener. Can I say wiener?" (4/11)
"How big is ‘yea’ big anyway?" (4/11)
"I have a penis and my penis wiggles." (4/11)
Me: "How many hours in a day?"
The Bean: "What season are we talking about?" (6/11)
"You’re not winning you know, you’re just in first place." (7/11)
"This hole where my tooth used to be is like a door into my mouth." (7/11)
"If you have an anchor tattoo, that means you’re really strong." (8/11)
Upon getting a bag of Skittles: "I got some S&M’s!!" (9/11)
Past Wisdom:
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Volume 6
Holiday Edition
Valentine's Day Edition
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Magic Shel
Having grown tired of reading The Giant Jam Sandwich to my daughter every night for the past two weeks, I went foraging for some new books. Digging through the box in the back of a closet, I stumbled upon Where the Sidewalk Ends and stashed it on the bookshelf.
The book was sitting on Sprout’s bed when she climbed in. She looked at it quizzically and then at me, silently asking if this was my doing. I told her I was going to read some poems from the book for one of her stories. She happily obliged and snuggled next to me as I began to read. She adored the book and happily drifted off to sleep moments later. I said goodnight, tucked the book under my arm and closed her door.
The book was sitting on the Bean’s bed when he climbed in. He looked at it quizzically and then at me.
“What’s this?” the Bean asked in a tone of voice that sounded almost insulted.
I told him I wanted to read some poems from the book for one of his stories. The Bean’s eyes got moist (he’s prone to crying fits when he’s tired). I told him that he would still get to read two stories of his choosing, but I wanted to read this one as a bonus book. That pacified the Bean and his eyes dried up.
I lured the Bean into the book by first reading him “Captain Hook” (Captain Hook must remember/Not to scratch his toes./Captain Hook must watch out/And never pick his nose.) He giggled. We read some more. And some more. He was enraptured.
Finally, I closed the book and prepared to tuck him in.
“Can you? Can you read that last one again?”
“The one about the outlaws and pirates and watersnakes and cannibals and eagles?”
“Yeah,” he said wide-eyed. “Please!”
I read the poem again. After I tucked in the Bean, I could not take the book with me because he refused to go to sleep until he flipped through the whole thing himself.
The book was sitting on Sprout’s bed when she climbed in. She looked at it quizzically and then at me, silently asking if this was my doing. I told her I was going to read some poems from the book for one of her stories. She happily obliged and snuggled next to me as I began to read. She adored the book and happily drifted off to sleep moments later. I said goodnight, tucked the book under my arm and closed her door.
The book was sitting on the Bean’s bed when he climbed in. He looked at it quizzically and then at me.
“What’s this?” the Bean asked in a tone of voice that sounded almost insulted.
I told him I wanted to read some poems from the book for one of his stories. The Bean’s eyes got moist (he’s prone to crying fits when he’s tired). I told him that he would still get to read two stories of his choosing, but I wanted to read this one as a bonus book. That pacified the Bean and his eyes dried up.
I lured the Bean into the book by first reading him “Captain Hook” (Captain Hook must remember/Not to scratch his toes./Captain Hook must watch out/And never pick his nose.) He giggled. We read some more. And some more. He was enraptured.
Finally, I closed the book and prepared to tuck him in.
“Can you? Can you read that last one again?”
“The one about the outlaws and pirates and watersnakes and cannibals and eagles?”
“Yeah,” he said wide-eyed. “Please!”
I read the poem again. After I tucked in the Bean, I could not take the book with me because he refused to go to sleep until he flipped through the whole thing himself.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Nails, Part 2
The Bean came home from school and drew a picture of a face with a big red frown. When asked about it he said that he was sad. The reason was painfully clear. The Bean had been teased at school about his polished nails.
Last fall Sprout expressed a desire to paint her nails, which prompted the Bean to want to paint his as well. Normally it was Sprout who copied every mover her big brother made, but this time little Sprout found herself the leader. Soon my kids were decked out with vibrant matching nails. The Bean really liked the look and his fingers have been periodically adorned with paint ever since.
WonderWife™ and I have always supported the Bean's decision to wear nail polish. We strive to be the kind of parents that let our kids, even if that means letting out of the house in mismatched shoes, covering their torsos in temporary tattoos or painting their nails bright pink. In fact, there have been times when I've found myself having to defend his choice.
And while the Bean has become sensitive about showing certain sides of himself in public, for instance he doesn't like to let others see him cry, he has remained blissfully carefree about his finger nails. In the few times he's come under scrutiny, the Bean has handled himself with integrity. He hasn't cared about social conventions or gender roles. I've been immensely proud of him for this.
The Bean's world became a different place upon entering kindergarten. School used to be a safe, nurturing environment where his days were spent playing. Now school has become more serious as the emphasis is on learning and homework. Kindergartners suddenly seem older and savvier about the world in unexpected ways.
It was the Bean's second week in kindergarten and he seemed to be doing well. He had made a few friends and there was even a girl whom he had taken a special liking to. But I was secretly worried the morning I walked him to school, his sparkly nail covered hand clasped in mine. It would've been impossible for his classmates not to notice. It would have been improbable for someone not to say something.
Sure enough, as the Bean tells it he had been teased by "everybody". He did stand up for himself bit that wasn't enough and he went to his teacher. By the end of the day, he was feeling pretty awful. He came home and drew the picture, which resulted in a good dose of nurturing from his mom. This made him feel better.
My heart broke as WonderWife™ told me this story. As I began to contemplate what to do next, she told me she asked the Bean what he wanted to do about his nail polish. After thinking it over for a minute, he decided that he wanted to keep it on. Once again, he has made me very proud.
I am glad that in this case the opinions of others hasn't deterred my son from being who he is, but I know the road of independence will not get easier as he gets older. All I can do is stand by him and encourage him whether his finger nails are blue or he wears rain boots on a sunny summer day and hope that he will have a thick enough skin to endure those that will not.
Last fall Sprout expressed a desire to paint her nails, which prompted the Bean to want to paint his as well. Normally it was Sprout who copied every mover her big brother made, but this time little Sprout found herself the leader. Soon my kids were decked out with vibrant matching nails. The Bean really liked the look and his fingers have been periodically adorned with paint ever since.
WonderWife™ and I have always supported the Bean's decision to wear nail polish. We strive to be the kind of parents that let our kids, even if that means letting out of the house in mismatched shoes, covering their torsos in temporary tattoos or painting their nails bright pink. In fact, there have been times when I've found myself having to defend his choice.
And while the Bean has become sensitive about showing certain sides of himself in public, for instance he doesn't like to let others see him cry, he has remained blissfully carefree about his finger nails. In the few times he's come under scrutiny, the Bean has handled himself with integrity. He hasn't cared about social conventions or gender roles. I've been immensely proud of him for this.
The Bean's world became a different place upon entering kindergarten. School used to be a safe, nurturing environment where his days were spent playing. Now school has become more serious as the emphasis is on learning and homework. Kindergartners suddenly seem older and savvier about the world in unexpected ways.
It was the Bean's second week in kindergarten and he seemed to be doing well. He had made a few friends and there was even a girl whom he had taken a special liking to. But I was secretly worried the morning I walked him to school, his sparkly nail covered hand clasped in mine. It would've been impossible for his classmates not to notice. It would have been improbable for someone not to say something.
Sure enough, as the Bean tells it he had been teased by "everybody". He did stand up for himself bit that wasn't enough and he went to his teacher. By the end of the day, he was feeling pretty awful. He came home and drew the picture, which resulted in a good dose of nurturing from his mom. This made him feel better.
My heart broke as WonderWife™ told me this story. As I began to contemplate what to do next, she told me she asked the Bean what he wanted to do about his nail polish. After thinking it over for a minute, he decided that he wanted to keep it on. Once again, he has made me very proud.
I am glad that in this case the opinions of others hasn't deterred my son from being who he is, but I know the road of independence will not get easier as he gets older. All I can do is stand by him and encourage him whether his finger nails are blue or he wears rain boots on a sunny summer day and hope that he will have a thick enough skin to endure those that will not.
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