Perserverance

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Peace.

May 23, 2010 | 3 comments

You know what a super ball is, right? It’s one of those small rubber balls you get for a quarter out of a vending machine at the grocery store. When thrown, it ricochets from the wall, the floor, to the wall, to the ceiling and back again at speeds and angles that seem to defy the laws of physics.

At times, if you stopped and watched Squirts from the far end of a large room, you might think he was trying to catch one of those super balls just after being bounced against a wall. But as you got closer, you would probably begin to wonder what happened to the ball? Then, as you got even closer, you would realize, there is no ball. That’s just Squirts-in-motion!

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Tomato, tomato

May 16, 2010 | 2 comments

Squirts is a pretty good eater. There aren’t many things he doesn’t like or won’t at least taste. We’ve been lucky in that way. Just don’t get in any hurry at meal time though, because he eats at one speed – slow.

But there is one food at which he consistently turns up his nose.

If he sees any chunky red things as his mom or I put salad on his plate, he always says, “Oooh, no to-may-toes for me! To-may-toes are gross!”

We reply, “Oh Squirts. Those aren’t to-may-toes, silly. Those are to-mah-toes.”

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The Boy Who Cried Puke

May 9, 2010 | 2 comments

A few weeks ago, for about three nights in a row, Squirts found reasons to come into our bedroom and wake me two or three times each night. First, you will note that I said wake ME up. Over the years, I have come to learn that it takes a lot more than a kiss on the cheek from her prince charming for my sleeping beauty to wake. More like a firm shove of a foot to the butt to begin rousing her slumber.

So, the pitter patter of four-year-old feet followed by the whack, whack, whack of a little hand on a pillow don’t stand a chance. Hey, no one said he’s stupid. Squirts has accurately assessed how to get the fastest reaction with the greatest ease (a theme I’m sure we will continue to recognize into the future).

Each pitstop throughout the night followed a pattern similar to this: pitter-patter-pitter-patter, whack-whack-whack, “can’t sleep/leg hurts/bad dreams/monsters/concerns about a shortfall in the college fund in 14 years.”

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Out of Control

May 2, 2010 | 6 comments

Nothing shatters the illusion of control like being a parent. It starts the moment that baby comes screaming into the world (at least for dad; for mom, the feeling might start some nine months earlier). We knew we were in for an adventure when the delivery nurse—a woman who had witnessed thousands of births—responded to Squirts’ noisy arrival by saying, “Well, isn’t he dramatic!” Let the fun begin!

From there, the appearance of control has continued to crumble:

  • You never really appreciate the simple ability to decide when to sleep, eat or use the facilities until your carefree life turns on a dime to an hourly schedule of all those things.
  • Shopping for a birthday gift at Target takes on a whole new meaning when you turn back to the cart just in time to see your two-year-old projectile vomiting into the basket.
  • Driving to church becomes directed by a map marked with every easy-in/easy-out restroom to avoid another commando Sunday.
  • The five minute trek across the amusement park to the Shamu show takes 25 minutes because there’s so much for a four-year-old to see. Daddy, look at that rock! Mommy, I found a stick! Hey, that guy is old!

And those are just a few of the moments from the first four years. I’m in denial about what the future holds.

Last summer, DeDe and I met some people who have their own unique perspective on the illusion of control when we traveled with her church praise team to Northern Ireland. Read the rest of this entry »

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