Adventures In Fatherhood
Next time you are around a bunch of young kids take a peek at their legs, and chances are you are going to find a bunch of little bruises all over them. Indeed, the shins do not lie.
This much I learned in short order with my boys, who are, for the most part, rough and clumsy kids who seem to have a penchant for falling down, knocking into things, falling over each other and kicking items by mistake. All of this results in numerous ding marks on their legs.
These little bruises come and go on a daily basis, as none of them are even serious enough to warrant a grimace from my kids when they take place.
My wife says all this is my fault and that I have molded the boys into exactly how I wanted my kids to be. She recalls a conversation before the birth of our first-born Beckett when I said something along the lines of I hope he’s the kind of boy who just runs into a wall, bounces back up and shakes it off. A brute, in other words, was what I envisioned.
With Beckett now a little over 3 years old and Carson nearly 21 months, it appears I not only have one kid like this but two.
As if it was not confirmed each and every day that these two are beefcakes, their legs prove the point as well.
Each of their legs are covered with little dime-sized bruises. I counted the bruises the other night in the bathtub. There were 14 on Beckett’s legs, and nine on Carson’s.
It was one of those times that I just had to look at these two naked goofballs in the tub, laugh and shake my head. Their cute little bodies were riddled with little bruises. While most were on the lower legs, a couple managed to score homes on the elbows, and there was even two nice bruises on Carson’s forehead (it seems he forgets he’s growing and not able to squeeze into places he once could, resulting in a number of head bumps on furniture and the like).
When I talk about these kinds of battle bruises with my wife, I know what she’s thinking -- this is exactly what you wanted with your sons. You got what you wished for, she’s thinking.
While I certainly wanted my kids to be tough and able to take a spill, I had no idea it was going to be like this. It’s even a little outrageous for me at times.
Similar thoughts appeared to be going through her head when Beckett ripped his bedroom door clear off its hinges last weekend in a monstrous temper tantrum.
Bedtime is still a nightmare around our house with the 3-year-old, who loses his mind whenever we leave him in his room these days and has been doing so for the last three months every night.
What’s aggravating here is it’s just for us, and not others who put him down. It appears to be some sort of parent-child separation anxiety, and we are examining each and every way to find a method that’s successful.
Apparently, at one point last weekend during his nightly temper tantrum, Beckett ran into his door so hard it came off its hinges. When Pam confronted him about it, he muttered something about throwing it away because it was garbage.
What a crazy kid he has become.
The line between being a dad and a guy is not always something I’m good at distinguishing.
For example, at one point after a bath the other night, I discovered Beckett sitting on Carson’s back while he was face down on the floor. I immediately got on Beckett’s case and went about removing him.
A few minutes later, Beckett had returned to sitting on Carson, who at this point was face first in the carpet and laughing hysterically.
Contrary to what I should have done as a father, I observed for a few seconds.
That was just enough time for Beckett to manage to pull up one of Carson’s legs for a little air guitar action. Carson, again, loved it. Beckett immediately then moved to stick Carson’s foot in his mouth and appeared poised to bite his big toe.That’s when I jumped back to being a dad. Maybe a little later, but you know what they say.
Haircuts are sensitive subjects around my house.
My wife loves long, wild hair on our boys, while I’m more of a fan of the short hair. Subsequently, that’s why Beckett’s hair at one point was past his shoulders, and Carson’s, as of Wednesday morning, was all sorts of crazy.
One thing we do agree on is short hair makes the kids look older, and that’s a little sad for both of us.
However, we had reached the point of no return with Carson this week. He needed a trim at least in my mind, and Pam did agree to that.
But, knowing my wife’s proclivity for long hair, I volunteered to take Carson to his appointment on Wednesday because I wanted to make sure it was a little bit more than just a trim.
The end result is pictured above, and I like it. Although she doesn’t want to admit, I think Pam does as well, or at least a little bit.