Storytelling

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I Turned 33 On Easter… How Appropriate?

April 20, 2014 at 9:40 pm , by 

3 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

At 5:58 this morning, I woke up to you yelling outside my bedroom,“It’s a pink bunny! The one I always wanted!”

Yes, you woke up, before the sun, and discovered your Easter basket.

After Mommy and I watched you officially unpack your Easter Spiderman bucket, then it was my turn…

Yep, I turned 33 today.

I admit it almost seemed a little bit wrong celebrating my birthday on the same day designated by Christians as the day to celebrate Christ’s resurrection.

Yet at the same time, it’s pretty interesting because, from what I understand, Christ was 33 years old when He was crucified and resurrected- and here I am, turning 33 on the day that is celebrated.

My birthday was never been on Easter in my lifetime, until today.

So right after you checked out your Easter gifts, I unwrapped my birthday gifts from Mommy- which were perfect, by the way:

A $10 “lunch money” gift card for Whole Foods, two vegan chocolate bars, and a Groupon for Mommy and me to go whitewater rafting on our 6th wedding anniversary in July, while Nana and Papa watch you all day.

Mommy is just so thoughtful.

I had a great 33rd birthday today, even if it means it’s the last year of me being in my “early 30s.”

Being nearly a third of age 100 is fine by me. I feel young… and I know I’ve stil got plenty to learn as human being, and especially as a parent.

You’ll be my age in 30 years. My plan is that these near-daily letters I write to you will help teach you about life lin general, not simply just recap your own life with snazzy collages and cleverly captioned photos.

Great birthday, great Easter.

Your Auntie Dana made you and your cousin Calla some homemade “vegan chocolate peanut butter bunnies” that I think made youcuckoo, as it appears from this pictures.

And if you’re wondering why I’m sitting at “the kids’ table” with you two, it’s because you politely invited me to join you.

So I did.

I ate lunch with the 3 year-olds, instead of the adults.

That was very nice of you to think of me, Son.

Of course, after you celebrated both Easter and your daddy’s birthday, you needed some rest.

Talking you into taking a nap today was unnecessary.

 

Love,

Daddy

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What Happens While Mommy’s Getting Her Haircut…

April 15, 2014 at 11:11 pm , by 

3 years, 4 months.

Dear Jack,

One of my jobs as “the dad” has always been to distract you from getting into trouble, or getting bored, while in public.

Over the weekend, Mommy had a haircut appointment at a salon, thanks to a Groupon.

I was able to distract you for about 8 minutes with the one magazine that wasn’t intended for actual desperate housewives… a hunting magazine, in which we only looked at the animals that had not been shot yet.

Hey, that’s just me being creative.

So I suggested we take a walk outside to see the other places in the shopping center.

We started out by watching the people exit the drive-through at Starbucks. But after only three cars, you were ready to run.

The shop right next to where Mommy was getting her haircut was a nails salon. The front door happened to be open, since it was nice outside.

You peaked in and saw the workers wearing masks over their noses and mouths to protect them from the fumes.

Your instant (and loud) response: “Hey, it’s the dentist!”

Then you ran down the sidewalk to check out the other stores. However, none of the others were open.

So we headed back by the nails salon. By that point, the owner was standing in the doorway, smiling.

I explained to him that you thought he was a dentist.

He went along with it. He then asked you if you have been brushing your teeth.

You assured him you have been. He offered to show you around the “dentist’s office” but you politely declined.

Once his wife caught a glimpse of you, she came over to ask you if you wanted to stay there at the “dentist’s” with them.

After you laughed and told her no, she surprised us both by making a face like a monkey (?) and flopped her arms around in the air, then started cheerfully grunting (?) to us, “Ooga-booga, booga-ooga!”

It was about that time that Mommy was all finished with her haircut and walked out of the salon. So we walked away with Mommy, backwards, smiling and nodding at the “dentist’s” wife; as she made you laugh all the way back to the car.

Yep, I guess we got what we were looking for:

Entertainment while Mommy got her haircut.

Uh… you’re welcome!

 

Love,

Daddy

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You Don’t Have To Teach A Boy To Make A Mess… Or To Find Trouble!

April 15, 2014 at 10:50 pm , by 

3 years, 4 months.

Dear Jack,

Saturday morning as we were getting ready to go to the Vanderbilt scrimmage game, which we actually missed because we were hanging way too long at a new vegan café we discovered thanks to a Groupon… you were being quiet and happy over at the window sill.

Finally, you announced to Mommy and me:

“Look, I’m killing this bug!”

Turns out, the thing was already dead. So I guess what you meant to say was that you were dissecting the bug… by smashing it with a vanilla-scented candle.

(All while wearing your “Just Like Daddy” t-shirt.)

Little black legs were everywhere.

I let you have your fun- after all, you’re a boy. You’re supposed to scrape up your elbows and knees… and make messes.

Granted, I don’t have to teach you to do this. You just naturally know where to find the right environment.

Again, I support it. You need to be a boy.

But it goes without saying that I provided you with the handheld vacuum cleaner and made you suck up all the loose bug body parts.

Then Sunday night while Mommy and I were preparing dinner, again you were being quiet and happy… the perfect combination for you to find trouble.

You had discovered some candy that you were supposed to save until Easter. Yeah, Mommy and I caught you “brown handed,” underneath your chair.

But we were laughing way too hard to be the least bit upset with you.

Besides, whether you had that non-approved candy then or on Easter, I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway. Delaying the sugar rush only to add it to the jackpot on Easter doesn’t make much sense, I guess.

Being a boy is fun. Discover your world. I will be there to laugh with you. And sometimes, at you.

Can you blame me?

 

Love,

Daddy

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Will The Real Easter Bunny Please Hop Up?

April 15, 2014 at 10:35 pm , by 

3 years, 4 months.

Dear Jack,

In the past few weeks, you have seen the Easter Bunny three times now. I really wish I could know exactly what you’re thinking when you see him.

My guess is that your perception of the Easter Bunny is similar to the way you perceiveTrotro the donkey, on Netflix.

You have explained to me, “No, Daddy. Trotro is not a donkey or a boy… he’s a donkey boy.”

So that means the Easter Bunny is not a bunny or a man, but a bunny man.

I’m sure you are further confused by the fact that all three Easter Bunnies you’ve seen here recently looked completely different.

The yellow one in the middle of the Opry Mills Mall sort of looked like a grandpa, wearing wire framed glasses.

About 50 feet away was the brown bunny standing in the doorway of Build-A-Bear (who is not advertised as the Easter Bunny, but it is implied). That one apparently is female- and definitely the happiest. She silently giggles a lot.

Actually, I’ve never considered this, but there is no solid reason why the Easter Bunny has to be a male.

It’s confirmed then- I am officially open-minded to Build-A-Bear’s concept of the Easter Bunny… that he may be a she.

And then there’s the Kroger Easter Bunny.

He sort of followed us around like a puppy; which wasn’t a bad thing. I would say he was more like a real bunny and less of a bunny man.

I think his goal was for us to get our picture made with him. It worked.

He even watched as you got your hands painted.

Nothing says Easter like a snake and a hippo; per your request, of course.

Being a kid is great, isn’t it?

You get to live in a mysterious world where enchanted mutant bunnies appear in public in the weeks leading up to Easter, then all of the sudden get shy and sneak in during the middle of the night to give you candy and toys.

Sounds a little passive-aggressive, though… right? You don’t question that at all and neither did I, at your age.

Logic isn’t so important to you at this stage in life. I miss that.

 

Love,

Daddy

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My Kid’s First True Need For Band-Aids

April 14, 2014 at 10:06 pm , by 

3 years, 4 months.

Dear Jack,

While you’ve been enjoying the splendor of Band-Aids for quite a while now, or as you refer to them, “tattoos,” it wasn’t truly until this past weekend that you really needed them.

Saturday morning we were helping our next door neighbor Rachel move her elliptical to the other side of the neighborhood, where the community yard sale was going on.

(Fortunately, the thing had wheels on the bottom.)

On the walk back to our house, you were running ahead of me on the sidewalk, in flip-flops.

Granted, I did indeed yell out to you, “Jack, slow down! Let me catch up to you.”

It was precisely 5 seconds later that you fell down, scraping your elbows and knees.

There really wasn’t much blood at all, but it was enough to scare you.

After all, you’ve never really fallen down and gotten hurt before. And that’s pretty amazing, actually!

I can’t believe that you made it until nearly age 3 and a half before your first real accidental injury. Had you not been wearing flip-flops, I doubt it would have even happened.

You’re a boy. You’re supposed to get cut up and bruised on a fairly regular basis, right? That’s how I remember it, first hand in the 1980s.

I find it interesting that you typically remain so unscathed…

Makes me wonder if there’s any way I’m a helicopter parent who is in denial? I try to give you all the practical freedom that a modern day American dad can give his son.

Or maybe you’re just now getting to the age where you can really start getting into trouble?

While I hate to see you get hurt, there is definitely a part of me that is proud to see you growing up, like a little boy should- with scraped elbows and knees.

And well-earned Mater Band-Aids.

 

Love,

Daddy