In the car tonight. Some off-hand comment about a fresh bowl of fruit but I meant a bowl of fresh fruit but then again you really would want a fresh bowl in either case. I leaned over to Ian. ‘Daddy misplaced his adjectives.’ ‘Wah wah wawawawa.’
On the trip home from Spain earlier this summer, we used our remaindered euros to buy a Mini Pod LEGO set for Ian. It was a small sports car, green and black, either from hell or a distant apocalyptic future where the dregs of humanity are fighting to overthrow the tyrannic oppression of our robotic […]
I and some friends saw Transformers last night. And as I recognized Bumblebee, mirrorball dangling from his review mirror, and, later, in the midst of his frenzied skirmish with Barricade, I thought*: It’s a shame Ian’s only four years old. * …and then said, to my friend, Rich. But adding that bit would’ve thrown my […]
Last weekend our public library had a party to celebrate the end of the summer reading club. Cookies and punch was served; Professor Presto was invited. Professor Presto is one of those magicians you watch more for the off-handed jokes and puns than for the magic. I don’t find disappearing bandannas all that intriguing, but […]
The Golden Girls end credits roll, and Ian starts to sing along: ‘Another Go-olden Girrrrls. I want to wa-a-atch Golden Gir-rrrrls.’ This is either hilarious or disturbing, depending upon your opinion of Bea Arthur.
Ian and I love browsing YouTube. Apart from old clips of The Muppet Show, Sesame Street, and addictive ear-worms (thanks a lot, Mike), there’s a plethora of neat, sciencey, Mr. Wizardesque videos. Like singing Tesla coils. For a kid who’s terrified of ‘funderstorms’, Ian sure loves lightning. We watched this video—and others like it—several times, […]
Ian likes to hit me. Anger, frustration, love, play, Tuesday. He balls his fists, gets a running start, and aims for where my eyes aren’t looking. I’m thankful and honored that I’m the only person he feels comfortable using as a punching bag, but a change would be nice. Yesterday he hit me while we […]
We visited my mother last weekend. Ian slept in my past bed and room, the walls still painted in depressing shades of black and gray. I was a melancholy young man. My bedroom also now has my mother’s computer, and a television with satellite. We can’t even receive PBS at our house, so cable is […]
Ian is being especially cordial after his stint on the naughty-step. He didn’t want to eat at the dinner table, but now he is, though slowly. He smiles and makes congenial conversation between—through—bites of fried shrimp. ‘How is your dinner? So…how was your day? Mine was good, because I’m with you!’ I’m not fooled, and […]
In the courtyard of the Alcázar was a man with a painted face. He stood on a silver box and wore a silver helmet. He held a silver lance and shield with silver-painted fingers. I saw him from behind, across the square and through the trees. In Spain, only one man carries a lance. Ian […]