What Do You Say?

Sometimes I feel like a really awesome dad, like my wife and I are really rockin’ this parenting thing.  Other times I don’t. 

At the dinner table tonight, Logan let out a large, loud belch, at least four seconds long.  It was apparent because, somehow, I could still hear the clock ticking behind him.  I was horrified, secretly proud, but horrified. 

“What do you say?” I demanded, expecting the answer, “excuse me.”

“Hold on,” he said, “I’m not done.”

- 28 November 2017

The Beginning of the End

Today is the day Justin got his learners permit.  He spent an hour driving us around town (mostly back roads).  Nobody swore (aloud), nobody had to be yelled at and I didn't cry once.









Part of me is excited that there will now be another driver to help take this circus on the road.  The other part of me, the part that just paid the insurance premium and filled up the gas tank, is not.





- 21 November 2015

Flashlight

Logan stood in front of me in the kitchen, waving my MAGLITE around his head.

“What are you doing with my flashlight, again?” I asked, with a note of irritation. 

“I’m using it,” he said, still swinging it wildly. 

“For what?” I demanded. 

Before he even had a chance to formulate a response, he proceeded to clock himself in the back of the head.


My wife said that I shouldn’t have laughed but I think I made my point. 

- 11 November 2017

Beautiful Sleep

“Dad, what’s for dinner?” Logan asked. 

Good grief.  Every single night.  I don’t know!  What does it say on the menu?

“I’m going to make Stouffers,” I said, in what I thought was a polite tone. 

“Do I get the whole thing to myself?” he asked. 

“No, it’ll be you and Ethan,” I said. 

“Not if I don’t wake him from his beautiful sleep.”

- 9 November 2017

Guinea Pigs Day Two

Someone, who shall remain nameless, that looks an awfully lot like my wife, had the bright idea to encourage Logan to keep a journal of the guinea pig’s activities.  Actually, the journal idea wasn’t a bad one by itself but she forgot that eventually we would have to endure a full accounting of every move the guinea pigs made through the eyes of a nine-year-old.  

Sure enough, not a half hour had passed before Logan appeared at the end of our bed.  Like any good parents, we made a feeble attempt to ignore his presence.  I tried to continue writing and my wife turned up the volume on the television.  No luck.  Completely unphased and sensing defeat, he smiled and started at the beginning.  I could see that he had covered the entire page, writing in every conceivable space.  At first, I thought we might have misjudged a child of nine’s ability to write an interesting and concise account of 30 minutes in the life of a pair of rodents.  Sadly, I was mistaken.  I think the realization that I was never going to get these 10 minutes back came at the seventh reading of the sentence, “Then Pepper ate some hay.”  

At the conclusion of his recital, Logan closed the journal and neatly tucked it under his arm.  

“That was just day one.  Tomorrow will be day two.”

If I didn’t know any better I would say that almost sounded like a threat.  Logan danced his way out of the room leaving me to wonder if tomorrow Pepper would eat some more hay. 

- 6 November 2017

Toothpaste

Logan lay quite still on our bed, gently holding Pepper, one of his new guinea pigs.  He was talking softly but animatedly while the guinea pig chirped and cooed at him.  All of a sudden the conversation stopped. 

“I know!” he quietly exclaimed, “I got toothpaste in my belly button too.”

My wife and I exchanged puzzled looks.  I raised my hand and opened my mouth to ask a hundred questions but I found myself incapable of speaking so I lowered my hand and closed my mouth.

I still don’t understand. 

- 5 November 2017