A hard day of work and then i went to the hospital to visit a friend who had had a hear attack at work. all is fine and well with him. (Billy) at least he is optimistic about his six bypass surgery tomorrow morning.
What i am getting to though, is afterward i met Jessica and Bradley at Costa Vida for an evening time meal. the food was delicious and we got hooked up with free ice cream afterward too. Bradley was so cold, but he managed to power through the majority of his frozen treat. when it was time to leave, we asked Bradley who he wanted to ride home with. I like to think that he chose me, because he likes me better, or maybe he missed me while i was working all day. Perhaps he had just had his fill of mom time for the day and needed a break. So, we get loaded up, and on the drive home he is convinced that we will NEVER see mom again. to help settle him down i tried to call her so he could hear her voice and know that everything was ok. after about six failed attempts, he is far less than convinced. (I figured she was enjoying a little loud music and just didn't hear the call.) Of course I tried to reassure him that we would see her at home, and he calmed down some. Then he told me that before we go home we had to go to your yammy. At least that's what it sounded like to me. I repeated back to him "your yammy?" "NO!!!" he replied. "YOUR YAMMY!!" Now i understood that this yammy that he was so passionate about was something that belonged to me. "My yammy?" i asked him. he acknowledged that i was correct and now I was a little confused. I knew that i had to investigate further before his little head exploded in that back of the Subaru. (We have it up for sale and I think that would depreciate the value. We would have to lower our asking price.) I asked him what is my yammy and the little light bulb finally turned on in my brain when he said "That is where grandpa Jeff is." At least he has learned that his stuff is his stuff and my stuff belongs to me. Though you wouldn't know it by spying on him when he is supposed to be in bed and thinks I am down stairs and not creepily peering around that corner at him in my bathroom going through my cologne.
The youngster was disappointed once again when i told him that there was no way we could make it to Miami tonight. Now he would never see mommy or grandpa Jeff again. About this time Jessica passed us in the Jeep. Finally I had a hand to deal. I pointed out the white clunker to him and instead of rejoicing, it was not "Go get her! She is winning us." I had let my son down enough this evening so I took a short cut and we became the victors. Now mommy is home safe. We won her. and as for grandpa Jeff... Maybe Bradley can call his yammy tomorrow morning.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
My son and I
Hi. My name is David Dickson. Most people call me Dave. I am a father of one and a husband of one. (that polygamy thing never really appealed to me. Besides, who would want the hysteria of more than one woman?) The reason I am starting this blog is, one, to help me type better. ( I have horrible habits) and, two, to help me recap and understand my three year old son better (so feel free to comment or question)
Mostly i want to document my experiences as a father. for instance the tantrum that my son is throwing as i type this entry. kicking his feet and screaming, because i would not (i left my wallet at home while we went for a short walk around the block.) buy him an Icee. Jessica, my wife, and Bradley, the three year old who's life is ending as we speak, go for walks to the gas station often. I, as the father who works during the day and misses out on the day to day "what is appropriate by Bradley standards" was quickly made aware that when passing the gas station on foot, one must always, always have means to buy his spoiled child whatever he desires.
now, i don't consider my son "spoiled", but he does get a lot of things that he wants...... or he has a fit. i figure this is normal for three year old to throw tantrums, and dealing with them is sometimes quite a challenge. i couldn't imagine doing the stay at home mom thing like Jessica does. i feel like i always need to handle the little fits of rage differently depending on the situation. for instance, if we are out to dinner and the cheeseburger is not as great as he thought it would be, when, before he ordered it, that was the only thing on the planet that he could eat. I have a hard time just ignoring him and i feel a need, derived from embarrassment, to give him whatever his little heart desires, in order to silence the head turning, and sometimes blood curdling screams. At home is a different story entirely. take the same scenario. i make him a hamburger and it might be bed time now if he doesn't eat it. i have no problem letting him cry until he is content and finally eats his food. then, of course he wants his dessert and is duely rewarded. eating, of course is not the only situation where my sons life turns into a tragedy, but you get the idea.
so back to the Icee thing. Jessica went to take a shower. Bradley, who always needs a shower/bath/a good drenching with a hose, was offered by me, the means to purchase his very own Icee for his devouring pleasure if he was only willing to get in the shower and endure a light scrubbing, so that his little body had maybe a few less layers of dirt on it. maybe my mistake was bringing the Icee thing back up at all, but the floor pounding continued.
It was funny to me, at the gas station, when i told him that i didn't have any money with me, he said "I have moneys" so i asked him to show me and if he had enough, that we could buy the so coveted Icee. He then pulled out of his pretend pocket, an equally pretend wad of cash. I ex pained that i need a real dollar, and then i watched the corners of his mouth touch his shoulders. I feel bad that i let my son down, but perhaps we can go for another shot walk later today and i can be the hero in his little eyes once again.
Mostly i want to document my experiences as a father. for instance the tantrum that my son is throwing as i type this entry. kicking his feet and screaming, because i would not (i left my wallet at home while we went for a short walk around the block.) buy him an Icee. Jessica, my wife, and Bradley, the three year old who's life is ending as we speak, go for walks to the gas station often. I, as the father who works during the day and misses out on the day to day "what is appropriate by Bradley standards" was quickly made aware that when passing the gas station on foot, one must always, always have means to buy his spoiled child whatever he desires.
now, i don't consider my son "spoiled", but he does get a lot of things that he wants...... or he has a fit. i figure this is normal for three year old to throw tantrums, and dealing with them is sometimes quite a challenge. i couldn't imagine doing the stay at home mom thing like Jessica does. i feel like i always need to handle the little fits of rage differently depending on the situation. for instance, if we are out to dinner and the cheeseburger is not as great as he thought it would be, when, before he ordered it, that was the only thing on the planet that he could eat. I have a hard time just ignoring him and i feel a need, derived from embarrassment, to give him whatever his little heart desires, in order to silence the head turning, and sometimes blood curdling screams. At home is a different story entirely. take the same scenario. i make him a hamburger and it might be bed time now if he doesn't eat it. i have no problem letting him cry until he is content and finally eats his food. then, of course he wants his dessert and is duely rewarded. eating, of course is not the only situation where my sons life turns into a tragedy, but you get the idea.
so back to the Icee thing. Jessica went to take a shower. Bradley, who always needs a shower/bath/a good drenching with a hose, was offered by me, the means to purchase his very own Icee for his devouring pleasure if he was only willing to get in the shower and endure a light scrubbing, so that his little body had maybe a few less layers of dirt on it. maybe my mistake was bringing the Icee thing back up at all, but the floor pounding continued.
It was funny to me, at the gas station, when i told him that i didn't have any money with me, he said "I have moneys" so i asked him to show me and if he had enough, that we could buy the so coveted Icee. He then pulled out of his pretend pocket, an equally pretend wad of cash. I ex pained that i need a real dollar, and then i watched the corners of his mouth touch his shoulders. I feel bad that i let my son down, but perhaps we can go for another shot walk later today and i can be the hero in his little eyes once again.
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