When I planned out this Presidents’ Week Extravaganza, I had thought that my son and I would be engaging all manner of crazy shenanigans, things too awesome to have been done in time to write my post for that very day (and I didn’t want to get into the habit of posting well past bedtime), so we were going to go and suck the marrow from life, and then I would tell you all about our exploits the next morning. It turns out, however, that David is very similar to me in that when faced when any free time, his body decides to succumb to some pernicious bug and sideline him for at least a couple of days. Maybe it’s because he knows we’re broke, and anywhere truly awesome we might go will cost money we don’t have. Nah, that doesn’t really sound like him. He probably just inherited my luck and sense of timing. Looks like I won’t have to worry about being a grandpa (well, from him) until he’s in his late twenties. Small miracles, I suppose.
Yesterday, it seemed that he was on the mend, but this morning he is all smoky voice and stuffed and runny nose. Luckily he has doctor’s appointment this afternoon for another prescription of his chill pills. I’m hoping that his doctor just says it’s some tiny virus that is going to clear up on its own, but if it’s something we can drown in antibiotics, I’ll be happy enough to oblige. I don’t like it when David isn’t feeling well, I mean, aside from the pleasant decrease in energy and volume. He just looks so pathetic, and I really just cannot bear to see my little man in pain. Not since the day he was born, and spend his first night (well, first week, actually) outside the womb in the NICU, connected by the belly button stump to an array of machines which helped him to not die. Most dads have said that they first felt like a father when their child grabbed on to a finger, but when David grabbed me, he was still kind of gooey, and I was in shock from having seen a twelve pound baby born in the natural fashion. But when I followed the team of nurses racing him down to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, and saw him laying there looking like Progeny of Borg, helpless and suffering, I knew that I would have given almost anything to free him from his pain and make him whole again. Of course, then I got to know him…
No, I’m just playing around. He and I butt heads over just about everything, but I catch rare moments of brilliance where it looks like he finally gets it, and I know that spending my time teaching him how to argue his case before me is paying off. He’s a wonderful boy frustrated by the apparent iniquities of youth, and if he had even an ounce of common sense, he would probably have better luck in trying to convince me. I know that he’s just a few months away from turning eight (and where have all those years gone?), and that I’m holding him to an impossibly high standard, but I’ve seen that he’s got the skills he needs to rule the world with an iron fist, so I’m trying to encourage that. Well, not despotism, but I’d like him to do well in life, at any rate.
I’m hoping that tomorrow we can go and do something somewhere outside of the apartment. We’re both feeling a little cooped up, and the fresh air and exercise will do us both some good. And I think my wife is off tomorrow, so maybe we can make a family outing out of it. It’s a shame that we don’t own a picnic basket, or we could make a day of it: pack up a lunch and head somewhere where there are no video games and spend some quality time with one another. Of course, all of this could be academic, as it’s been overcast for the past couple of days, and a chill has infused the air. Maybe we can just head on over to Berkeley, and grab lunch at Jupiter. I haven’t been there for quite some time, and I think by noon tomorrow that I will be in sore need of a quality beer and artisan pizza.
Actually, that sounds wonderful. If Flor wasn’t working today, and if David didn’t have his appointment, I’d suggest that we just go this afternoon. We need to get out and do more as a family (and my wife and I also need to get into a routine of having a date night once a week), and we all love pizza (and I love beer), so I think that this plan of mine has a shot of happening. My wife also wants to check out that 50 Shades of Grey movie, but I think we’ll save that for another day, one spent without our impressionable son. I don’t think that I want to expose him to that kind of garbage. I mean, from what I’ve read, the writing is abominable, and that’s not something you force upon someone that you love (I’m less concerned about my wife, as English isn’t her primary language, and writing so clunky that one could trip over it might actually make it easier for her to understand); also, I don’t think graphic presentations of that nature are something he is ready for. I mean, even the French think that children should be twelve years of age before being allowed in to watch it.
You may have noticed that I seem a little off. I apologize. My son is playing LEGO The Hobbit right next to me, and it’s just the slightest bit distracting. It does look pretty cool, though. I may have to kick him off at some point so that I can play. It’s nice that he’s getting finally getting into Tolkien, and he’s expressed some interest in checking out the book!
Anyway, so goes my life. I’ll see you all again tomorrow!
-Tex