June 13, 2012
Stop Playing Your Guitar (I Want Some Jello)
Evenings are hard. With school winding down and summer activities starting up, our evenings are temporarily quite full. And since Owen gets up with the obnoxious birds at the crack of dawn, by the time dusk is arriving, he’s quite tired and much less willing to be cooperative than he normally is.
As Beth left for rehearsal last night she muttered sorry and headed for the car. Owen, having not had much dinner at all, insisted that I stop strumming my guitar and give him Jello. I declined to comply with this request. Overall, I did fine, though, wrangling our two wild children through their evening routine getting them into bed with the aid of only one alcoholic beverage. I was feeling all modern and shit until the point at which I said …then you best behave. Then I felt like I was a father in the 1930’s who could complete the sentence by saying …or else I’ll learn ya with a switch for the old willow tree then make you milk the cows for the rest of the week. I did not, however, say that.
What’s funny about kids is their innate ability to have little glimmers of awesomeness even when they’re deeply committed to being pills. Mia for instance. After a rough evening, she crawled into Owen’s bed to give him a goodnight hug.
Mia: You’re the best little brother in the world.
Me: That was sweet.
Mia: You’ll notice I didn’t say best brother in the world. Just best little brother.
Me: Oh. I noticed that. Less sweet but still nice.
Mia: But the good thing about being the only brother is that he doesn’t have any competition. So of course he’s the best.
Me: Okay, I go back to that being sweet then, Mia.
So, here's to those sweet glimmers. And Jello.