So my wife has taken my son and gone to the lake. Actually, I am joining them tomorrow night after I finish working for THE MAN! And by the man, I mean a lovely, classy, twin-set wearing entity named Ann Taylor. But anyway, THE MAN is making me miss the first part of the family vacation. They left this morning and then I will leave tomorrow night and join them. Naturally, I am trying to sew some wild oats while they are gone and party all night long. Any by sew wild oats I mean do some chores around the house and the yard.
So far I have mopped the kitchen and mowed the lawn. Two jobs that are IMPOSSIBLE to do with a 15 month old around. When I am mopping the kitchen, he tries to run through the room, which causes him to slip and cry and then the mopping stops. And if I am mowing the lawn, well heaven help us. Jonah, the aforementioned 15 month old, LOVES the great outdoors. He would live outside if we would let him. So if I ever go outstid to mow, he throws a fit at the injustice of it all. How can there possibly be SOMEONE outside and he not be included? Does he not like to eat dirt, too? Is there sun enough for all of us? Did I just see a rat swim by in the canal in the front of the house? (These are the thoughts I imagine he has. And the answer to the last one is yes. Rats do live in that canal. Big, long, wet ones.) So then my wife brings him outside, but then I get paranoid and think of all of the horrible things that could happen with me mowing the lawn and him 40 feet away. Needless to say, not a lot of lawn mowing gets done.
What I love the most about when Jonah is outside (and when I am not mowing the lawn) is that within 3 minutes of him being out there, he has a stick in one hand and a rock in the other. Once he has those two crucial items, he will run around the yard indefinitely. He doesn't really do anything with the stick or the rock. He doesn't hit them together much, or poke things, or throw them. He just carries them around. Don't you remember that though? Being a little boy and how many possibilities a stick in hand meant? Granted, many of you are women, and therefore don't remember being a little boy (unless you have a dark past we don't know about) but I think you catch my drift. A stick meant you could do ANYTHING. I used to really hope when I was younger that my Mom would get called as the Ward Music Director, because I imagined when they gave you that calling they also handed you a box of those cool slim wand that you would lead the music with. I wanted one of those wands so bad! I don't know why, really. I guess it looked something like a magic wand, and well, it was a stick.
When I see Jonah with his stick and rock my heart melts a little bit. Sometimes I don't really think I am well equipped to be the father of boys (and we have another one on-order right now!) I know a lot more about fashion and recipes and floral arrangement than I do about football or being tough. I am not tough (and for the record, neither is my son. He spent a large chunk of his life afraid of grass and towels) but I also want to raise boys that are. Not in a mean way. Just in the way that they will be respected and looked up to and be the champions of the underdog.
Anyway, I guess this blog should have some sort of clever ending that wraps it up nicely like "I guess I better teach Jonah how to use that stick and that rock." I don't want him to USE the stick and the rock. I really hope he turns out a little like me. Just a little bit more coordinated. And with a basketball scholarship to pay for school. And a degree in the Culinary Arts (so that I can force him to live my dream.) I'd be a little annoyed if he was a grunting, smelly obnoxious boy, which he probably will be a bit of too. Good thing I will have taught him so much about grooming.
PS. SO THERE! TWO BLOGS! What do you think of them apples?!
3 comments:
Love 'em. Write more!!!!
One of the cutest things I ever saw was last year at temple square. We were walking around as a family, and Owen stopped for a second to get something out of his pocket. But in order to do that, he had to empty out both of his pockets - and he had about 23 different things in those pockets. No kidding. Race cars, plastic horses, incredible stuff. I know when you mean when you say your heart melts to see that...
and we also know what it means to want to raise boys who are, well, "tough," and "champions of the underdog." Miles is, afterall, afraid of butterflies, so we'll see how that goes.
How funny is it that the non-hunting, non-football playing theater professor is raising three boys? I say teach Jonah to cook! He'll make an incredible husband someday.
Ethan, who is 2 and a half, would not be caught dead outdoors without a stick slung over one shoulder. When I ask him what he's doing with the stick, he quite simply replies, "Gotta fight." I have never actually seen him attempt to fight anything or anyone with his stick, but I have to admit, I take comfort in knowing that if that time comes, my little guy is well-prepared. I also think it's good we don't usually have other little boys with sticks hanging around. That might get nasty.
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