Storytelling

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Is It Okay To Take Our Jogging Stroller To The Mall?

October 2, 2013 at 10:19 pm , by 

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Raising A Little Adult… I Mean, Only Child

October 1, 2013 at 11:59 pm , by 

2 years, 10 months.

Dear Jack,

A few weeks ago when you began your obsession with trying to find a pink Hummer on the way to school, I finally had to break the news to you as softly as I could:

“You don’t see a lot of pink Hummers on the road, Jack. You really don’t see a lot of pink cars at all, really.”

Since that day, you have been using my phrase “you don’t see a lot of” to refer to any possibly peculiar or slightly rare vehicles you see as we drive around Nashville.

“A blue dump truck!” You paused for two seconds, then continued, as if recovering from deep thought:

“You don’t see a lot of blue dump trucks.”

This weekend I helped you make the poor man’s version of a Thomas the Train table by connecting all your plastic Take-N-Play tracks and playsets across our coffee table and couch.

You’ve got this new Hot Wheels van that serves as, I assume, a post-Rapture, pre-Apocalypse survival vehicle.

The entire back of the van is enclosed in what I think is supposed to be bulletproof glass, containing inside a tiny bed, a giant computer, and what appear to be giant tanks of oxygen.

As you considered letting the van cross the bridge from the table to the couch, alongside my Gremlin from the 1980s, you proclaimed, “You don’t see a lot of weird orange vans.”

The reason this story is funny to me is because when you say “you don’t see a lot of” it makes me think of you as a little adult.

That just doesn’t sound like a phrase a nearly 3 year-old goes around saying.

(However, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that using unusual, adult-sounding phrases is actually pretty typical of kids your age.)

I’ve heard that raising an “only child” is like raising a little adult.

I could see that…

 

Love,

Daddy

 

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My Kid Is The Proud Line Leader, 24/7

September 27, 2013 at 10:44 pm , by 

2 years, 10 months.

Dear Jack,

In the culture of nearly 3 year-olds, I’m assuming that the “line leader” status is pretty much king.

Mommy and I have been noticing that you have been using the term quite frequently as you play with your cars:

“I’m the line leader, I gotta go before you,” I’ll hear you say in a falsetto voice, portraying whichever Hot Wheels car is that is indeed the appointed line leader.

What’s really funny is that you have now begun daily announcing yourself as the line leader… each morning when it’s just you and me as we’re leaving the house for school.

It first happened one day last week as I was sitting down on the carpet, putting on my shoes. You stood up and calm-assertively darted to the front door:

“I’m the line leader.”

At that exact moment, I was preoccupied with thoughts of gathering together my lunch and your snacks for the car.

But I soon realized that I had to take you quite seriously on your claim.

So I just rolled with it.

Though I’ve always been very particular and strict about not letting you anywhere near a street or parking lot without me holding on to you, I realized I need to start showing you I trust you with some boundaries.

Our deal now is that you get to lead us to the 2nd sidewalk square from our front door while I lock up. Granted, I never take my eyes off you while I’m doing it: I’m in reaching distance of you.

Sure, it’s just a matter of a few feet each morning, but you do indeed get to be the line leader.

The current theme/new cool word in your life right now is very clear to me. So I’m trying to make it more relevant for my own life too.

Yesterday morning on the misty, Seattle-like drive to school, you asked me why I stopped to let the 18 wheeler turn in front of me.

My reply: “Because… he’s the line leader.”

I figured you could follow that logic.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

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Lesson From My Kid: When In Doubt or Danger, Make Stuff Up

September 25, 2013 at 8:31 pm , by 

2 years, 10 months.

Dear Jack,

Now realizing that you have an understanding of what Angry Birds are and because I’m finding myself very entertained these days by your random answers, I asked you a loaded question:

Are Angry Birds mean?

Your response:

“They were mean, but Lightning McQueen said, ‘It’s okay!’ And Mater said that too…”.

When you quoted Lightning McQueen, it was in falsetto; which is always great.

Not only do you make up answers to weird questions I ask you, but here lately you have begun a hobby of making up words.

This past weekend, your great-uncle Al, who you call “Uncle Owl,” gave you a 5 pack of Hot Wheels cars.

Needless to say, you loved your gift.

Later, as he was leaving, you ran up to him and announced:

“Thanks for the Poagleys!”

I’m assuming “Poagleys” is a proper noun? Maybe it’s “poaglies” instead…

But after all, you’re the one who made up the word.

Another way you use made-up words is to censor yourself, to avoid getting in trouble:

“I don’t like… booshkahs… right now! No way, Daddy!”

What you really want to say is, “I don’t like you right now!”

Instead, in that moment, “booshkahs,” keeps you clean. It works; though I totally know what you’re doing.

It reminds me of the word “smurf.” It can be used as a verb, a noun, an adjective… pretty much any part of speech.

I wish I could just make up stuff when I either didn’t know what to say or knew what I wanted to say but knew better.

Well, I guess I could… but somehow in the adult world I have to participate in, I think that would just confuse people too much and ultimately proof ineffective.

As for you, you’re nearly 3 years old. At least you’ve got a good excuse.

 

Love,

Daddy

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My Kid Thinks All Mustang Owners Are Racecar Drivers

September 24, 2013 at 9:59 pm , by 

2 years, 10 months.

Dear Jack,

You can now correctly identify Ford Mustangs from across any intersection.

I didn’t teach you that- how did you learn that?

As we pulled into the school parking lot today, I remembered that one of your teachers, Ms. Debbie, owns a Mustang- so I parked next to it so you could see one up close.

You proudly posed for your picture next to it.

“She drives a Mustang racecar? We go to the race? I want to see Ms. Debbie race,” you told me.

When we got inside, I explained to Ms. Debbie that you believe she is a racecar driver.

It was a classic moment for me, getting to relate that hilarious information to her.

She was flattered… I think.

Then when I came to pick you up at the end of the day, I saw another Mustang convertible in the parking lot.

I had totally forgotten that another one of your teachers, Ms. Chastity, also drivers one too!

You didn’t know what to think after learning that…

Two of your teachers are racecar drivers, because, after all:

All Mustangs are racecars, therefore the people who drive them are automatically racecar drivers who compete in races.

Even now, I’m afraid to disappoint you by making the truth clear about your teachers and their Mustangs.

I’d rather you just believe that two of your teachers race each other each weekend at the Nashville Speedway.

As I parked the car at our house this afternoon, I reminded you that you have a blue toy Mustang with all your other cars in our living room.

“I do?!” you answered, very surprised.

Needless to say, you had a very exciting and pleasant dinner tonight, with your Mustang accompanying you.

I am going to be amazed if you don’t end up becoming a major car enthusiast.

It really makes me curious what you’ll have for your first car.

Well, we still have another 13 years to figure that out.

Until then, you keep doing your research. Who knows?

Maybe you’ll end up driving (and therefore, racing) a Mustang!

 

Love,

Daddy

 

 

 

 

 

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