Long before my son was born, I occasionally crossed paths with childrened people. They were a strange lot to me, with one particularly peculiar habit: sharing their kids’ newest accomplishments. To my non-parent ears, these accomplishments were pretty unremarkable.
- Oh, your kid can smile now? You must be so proud.
- Your kid’s pooping in a toilet now? That’s . . . wow. I can’t imagine your sense of achievement.
- Your kid knows the alphabet now? Better sign him up for med school, pronto!
The end results these parents shared hardly seemed noteworthy to me. So why, I wondered, were they spoken of with such pride?
My conclusion then: Parents are weird.
A couple of weeks ago, I had to help my four-year-old son with his capital “R.” Read more…
He touches the “map” card before throwing it across the floor. He spins some circles, a four-year-old’s idea of breakdancing, while waiting for it to settle.
“Now touch ‘shell,’” I tell him, starting the same mirthful cycle anew.
By the time we finish, he’s spun more circles on the floor than I can count. He runs laps between the living room and the bedroom, more ready for bedtime than he realizes. His heart is big, this little man’s, but so is his boyful exuberance.
We settle in for stories. He protests my choice, even though he gets his choice next. As I read, I swap real words for silly ones to see if he’s paying attention: Read more…