Now see, the hamburger was his idea.
There was a discussion about going to grab a bite to eat, then drop by the shoe store to pick the little phisch up some new sandals. For lunch, he wanted to go to the “apple place”. (No, techno-nerds, not that “apple place”.)
As we pulled in to the parking lot, Mommy asked if he wanted chicken fingers and fries, his customary meal at the “apple place”. After a second or two of silence, he replied, “I want a hamburger.” Mommy and I exchanged glances.
From that moment, until we actually placed the order with the waitress, we repeatedly checked that he was still on message. Did he want chicken and fries? No, he wanted a hamburger. Do you want cheese on the hamburger. Yes. Do you want chicken and fries? No, a hamburger, with fries. Okay. A hamburger with cheese, with fries.
About three or four bites in to the hamburger, it apparently lost its luster. Then the struggle began, most of the heavy lifting being done by Mommy, as she was the one sitting next to the little phisch. As any parent with a toddler will tell you, the point of bribery was reached–this time rather quickly, given the circumstances–and bites of hamburger were exchanged for more fries. More quickly than we would have thought possible, the bribery stopped working.
Then the whining set in, following swiftly by sniffling, and then that slow-building, deep-from-the-pit-of-the-stomach-and-hell-itself mournful wail that sets any parent’s teeth on edge, especially when in a public place.
Fortunately, Mommy and I had finished our meal, the bill swiftly arrived, and we paid. The little phisch did not want to leave, of course, he wanted more fries. Our getting up from the table led him to throw himself on to the floor and begin the launch in to full-blown tantrum. At this point I had to scoop him up and carry him out, nearly tossed over my shoulder like a thirty-pound bag of dog food, his cry of “More french fries!” resounding in my ear.
As he was loaded in to the car, his plaintive wail for more fries continuing, it was explained to him that he could have had more fries, but he chose to not do what was asked of him. The tantrum erupted, and continued as he realized we were not, in fact, going to look at sandals, but were instead heading home because someone had hit his wall after going ninety miles an hour the entire morning, most of which had been the province of Mommy to oversee, and she was exhausted, too. “More french fries!” was replaced by “I don’t want to go home…”
But to home we did go. He had mostly quieted by the time we pulled in to the driveway, and allowed Mommy to remove him from his seat and carry him inside. Once in the house, however, the tantrum started up again, and I had to again throw him over my shoulder and carry his kicking and screaming body up the stairs and to his room. Mommy followed behind, and after a few minutes was able to get him to calm down. Still a few minutes later, he asked for me.
“I want to snuggle,” he told me, so I lay down beside him in his bed, and he folded himself in to the crook of my arm, resting his head on my shoulder/chest. After a few seconds, he told me he wanted covers, so I pulled the sheet up over his legs. Then he wanted Snoopy, and I reached down to grab the Peanuts mutt, handing it to him. He was quiet for a minute or so, then he wrapped his fingers around my thumb, his fist swallowing the digit, and gave a squeeze.
“I love you, Daddy.”
And everything from the past half-hour disappeared.
The Peace Corps, for all its good work, has it wrong. That is not the toughest job I would ever love. I’ve already got that job, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Tag: parenting
“The guys who fear becoming fathers don’t understand that fathering is not something perfect men do, but something that perfects the man.”
–Frank Pittman
“We have evidence that in our own society men can rear and nurture their children competently and that men’s methods, although different from those of women, are imaginative and constructive.”
–Kyle D. Pruett
[Courtesy of the Mr. Dad newsletter.]
An observation I’ve made repeatedly to my spouse is that given the temperaments and egos of the engines of the Sodor Railway, I believe Sir Topham Hatt is experienced enough to manage a NBA or NFL team.
I’d say 4D ultrasound has to be the coolest in pre-birth baby tech. I would have loved to have seen our little phisch this way. Maybe with the next one.
Yesterday, my wife awoke to find our son still in his bed. Granted, he was awake, but he’s only three and still hasn’t quite figured out the whole Christmas morning, Santa has left presents, thing. So she went to get him up, and moments later he came in to our room.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Merry Christmas, buddy!” I tell him as Mom helps him up on the bed.
“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” he replies, giving me as big a bear hug as his little arms can muster.
He then proceeds to plop down next to me, still hugging me, and we stay like that for about forty-five seconds before he pops up and says, “Come on, Daddy. Let’s go get presents.”
If nothing else, those sixty seconds made this the best Christmas ever.
My status message read:
Barney tomorrow: God help me
- Thanks to the folks at Xerox, with help from Layer 8 Group, you can send a postcard, with original artwork by a child, to a member of the armed forces serving abroad: Let’s Say Thanks. I sent one, how about you?
[Via Susan via e-mail.]
- About.com has some good advice in its Back to School section concerning backpack selection for students. The first tip they offer, to get a bag with two straps instead of just one, to help balance the load across the body better, is why I’m a dedicated backpack guy.
- My new addiction is Armagetron Advanced, an open source 3D game of the lightcycle contest from Tron.
As if the free wifi at Panera Bread wasn’t enough of a reason to frequent the joint–that is, beyond the yummy food–the little phisch and I learned today they now carry Horizon Organic single-serving milk boxes, and Yogurt Tubes in place of chips, for the Panera Kids meals. Kudos, Panera!
My father taught me to never raise my hand to a woman.
But if I had been the one sitting across from the female HR person who told a mom she had “wasted” the past 19 years of her life raising her three children, I could very well have forgotten those lessons from my father.
Outrageous.