Storytelling

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It’s Easier To Fall Asleep When Mommy Drives Away

December 22, 2013 at 10:25 pm , by 

3 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

Here’s the dilemma:

I’m quicker and more efficient at getting you to bed for both naps and bedtime.

Mommy is quicker and more efficient at doing the dishes after meals.

However, Mommy depends on that quality time with you of putting you to bed… so I do the dishes while she puts you to bed.

And that’s no problem. I’m cool with whatever, asking myself the question, “What would Jack Jackson do?“

He would do the dishes. So I do, too.

But here lately, you have really… what’s another way of saying “taken advantage of the situation”?

You’ve really capitalized on the fact that you know Mommy will come back to comfort you if you call her after she leaves your bedroom.

Of course, you don’t do that with me if I happen to be putting you to bed. You just go to sleep because I make things less interesting, and comforting, I suppose.

So this weekend, Mommy and I tried an experiment.

For your noontime naps, Mommy went through the typical routine for bedtime for you, while I did the dishes from the recent meal, but then she called me upstairs right as it was time for her to leave the room and for you to start falling asleep.

Then, Mommy had to go to get gas for her car. (Or drive to the next neighborhood while I closed the deal with you.)

The most important part of this plan working was that you actually saw Mommy literally drive away. All I did after that was sing you a quick version of the theme song from The Lorax, and you were in Dreamland by the time I could walk downstairs.

With there being no hope of her coming back to your room to comfort you anytime soon, you gave up trying to delay falling asleep.

That’s when I texted Mommy to come back, just a few minutes after she drove away; that the coast was clear.

Hey man… it works

 

Love,

Daddy

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting, Storytelling

It’s All About Being A Big Boy, These Days

December 21, 2013 at 8:47 pm , by 

3 years, 1 months.

Dear Jack,

I’m officially aware now that if Mommy or I add the phrase “big boy” in front of just about anything, you’ll be interested in it. It’s similar to the way I’ve distanced myself from using the word “toddler” to reference you anymore, especially since you turned 3 last month.

In other words, you are doing away with all that baby stuff, because this is like your bar mitzvah of Big Boyhood.

For example, I’ve noticed that in recent photo collages I’ve been making, I typically include a shot of the men’s restroom sign, to signify that you went potty there… and didn’t get your “big boy underwear” wet.

It’s like my way of documenting The Great Potty Tour of 2013/2014.

I was thinking about this the whole time you were at the dentist, when I took you earlier this week. I was so impressed by the way you just went with the flow, despite it being potentially intimidating to a 3 year-old.

Granted, the huge fish tank, the multiple horsie rides, and the arcade room surely helped distract you in a good way.

It was very rewarding for me as a parent to sit back and watch you at the dentist, seeing that you clearly wanted to show me how brave you are.

When I was your age, I was more afraid of new things. But you, you’re different.

You have a level of self-confidence I don’t remember having until after I survived 6th grade. In other words, I was probably about 13 before I had the chutzpah you already have.

So basically, you’re ahead of me by about 10 years.

Ideally, in theory, you could be where I am now, maturity-wise, by the time you’re 22; I’m 32 now.

That’s my goal for you, in a way. I’m doing my best to raise you to have more maturity, life skills, knowledge, charisma, and humility than I had at whatever age you are now.

So far, it’s working…

 

Love,

Daddy

Leave a comment Posted on marriage, parenting, Spirituality, Storytelling

Raising My Son To See Females As Somebody’s Daughters, Not Objects

December 18, 2013 at 11:18 pm , by 

3 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

It’s no secret that I am perhaps the most… peculiar person at my office.

No, not just because I’m the token vegan, or the guy that refuses to use microwaves, or because I go mountain biking during my lunch break.

I’m also the guy that likes to unleash subliminal social experiments among my coworkers.

Last Friday, the new monthly coupon advertisements were delivered to the break room, featuring discounts for local businesses.

One of them is for a lodge-themed restaurant featuring scantily clad young women as the waitresses, who on the ad, all looked so happy to be wearing so little flannel. (Not to mention, the name of the restaurant is a play on words that is definitely not discreet about what part of the female body it is alluding to.)

I remember about a year ago, when word came out that the fairly new “breastaurant” chain was moving to the very Republican part of Nashville my office is located. There were people evidently trying to boycott that from happening.

As for me, the token Libertarian of the office, my stance was that if the free market financially supports a corny, degrading-to-women restaurant like that, then let it be.

Turns out, there are enough customers willing to support the place to keep it alive and well, because, afterall… “The food is really good there!” I am told.

Here’s where I’m going with this story: I am raising you to see women as… women. Not objects. I’m raising you to see them as somebody’s daughters.

Just to subliminally reinforce this concept to my coworkers, I printed out in size 10 font, the phrase “A.K.A. Somebody’s Daughters,” then cut it out and taped it underneath the restaurant’s logo and the picture of the uniformed models used for the ad.

When word finally got around this week who was behind the prank, because after all, everyone in the office saw those coupons laying there on the table all week, some were surprised it was me: A happily married 32 year-old man with a 3 year-old son.

I responded by saying, “What- did you assume it was an ultraconversative feminist?” (Whatever that means.)

Nope, it was a guy, who is raising his son to treat women with respect. I want to raise you as one less willing customer for a restaurant like that… no matter how good the “food” is.

On second thought, maybe I really am an ultraconservative feminist… if male Libertarians are allowed to be them?

Love,

Daddy

P.S. This is one of those letters that is to be reserved for when you’re older. But while I’ve got it on my mind, I wanted to give you this “life advice” today and I’ll just bookmark it for when the time is right for you to hear it. In the mean time, enjoy the simple life of being a 3 year-old, please!

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It’s A Boy’s Boy’s Boy’s World

December 17, 2013 at 10:23 pm , by 

3 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

It was just a month ago that we celebratedyour 3rd birthday with your best friend Sophie. I had pointed out the fact that your other friends who showed up to your party were all girls.

And for Sophie’s birthday party this past weekend atShipwrecked Playhouse, the boys were unable to make it as well.

Here you are again in a situation where you’re the only boy, surrounded by girls.

Not that you minded, or even thought it was out of the ordinary.

In fact, you were quite preoccupied by the fact Sophie had told you earlier in the week at school that she had a surprise for you that you’d receive at her party.

The moment you sat down next to her as the cake was being cut, you politely yet very directly asked her, “What’d you get for me, Sophie?”

She didn’t tell you.

However, you patiently waited for her to open her gifts… knowing afterwards you could see what was in your goodie bag from her.

Sophie and your friend Madison both eagerly watched you open your goodie bag, as if that were just as important as the actual birthday kid opening her gifts.

You were happy: There was Play-Doh in there- which I am finding is like currency among 3 year-olds, as cigarettes are in prison.

Afterwards, I really enjoyed observing the way you played, versus the way your girl friends did.

While Sophie and Madison used the phone to repeatedly announce clean-up on aisle 7…

You drove the Lightning McQueen car around the indoor playground, exploring the ins and outs of the joint. Granted, you visited Sophie and Madison, by parking right in front of them as they played on the phone. You served as the sole, straight-faced audience member.

After a few minutes, you drove away without even the thought of giving them any applause.

You acted like a total boy the whole time. And they acted girls, accordingly.

Go figure.

 

Love,

Daddy

Leave a comment Posted on funny, parenting, Storytelling

The 3 Year-Old Version Of Cursing: “Poo You! I Poke You In The Eye!”

December 15, 2013 at 9:04 pm , by 

3 years.

Dear Jack,

Half your life ago,which was a year and half ago, I wrote “My Toddler’s [Bleep] Potty Mouth.”

Back in those days, when you tried to say the word “cookie,” it came out as… a word I’m not going to say on record.

You didn’t have the ability to announce certain sounds, so a completely innocent word could end up being something that would be censored on cable TV.

These days, however, you can pronounce most sounds you need to and therefore, “accidental curse words” are less of an occurrence.

However, I’m picking up on what I call “the 3 year-old version of cursing.”

Today Mommy was out with a friend for a little while, as part of her monthly designated girlfriend time (my designated guy friend time was a few weeks ago when I went with some friends to see Thor: The Dark World… then Hunger Games: Catching Fire), so this afternoon I stayed home with you cleaning our “2 and a half” bathrooms.

It was time for your noontime nap, but I really wanted to get the cleaning out of the way before you went to sleep.

So I made you a deal…

You followed me to each of the bathrooms as I cleaned them. While I scrubbed the sinks, toilets, and tubs with Dr. Bronner’s Pure Castille Peppermint Soap, you read me stories from a book your aunt Jeneane recently mailed you for Christmas: Best-Loved Children’s Stories.

As I was kneeling down to clean the shower drain, I heard you say, “Poo you! I poke you in the eye!”

I paused for a moment, as I did my best to keep you from hearing me laugh.

Then I walked out of the bathroom doorway to come see which storyline could have motivated that kind of dialogue.

“The purple page, Daddy,” you explained as you flipped back a few pages, to show me the part in “Ali Baba” where a thief annoyingly questions a lady store worker.

I’m guesing it was she that told the thief, “Poo you! I poke you in the eye!”

What a clever curse from the mind of a 3 year-old. I mean, I don’t want you repeating that at school, where you probably heard it to begin with.

But seriously, that’s pretty funny!

Love,

Daddy