Squealer: “Dad, is butt lick a bad word?”
I sat frozen as I considered my six year old’s query. We’re pretty old school (read “legalistic”) with profanity in our household. The word “butt” is verboten (verbutten?) in our home, even moreso if you append it to the term “lick” (or any other verb for that matter).
Me: “Son, where did you hear that word?”
Squealer: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Did you hear it at school?” (“Objection, your honor. The prosecution is leading the witness!”)
Squealer: “I don’t know. I think I heard it at school.”
I think he affirmed school as the origin because it’s the middle of summer and that’s a pretty safe place for the blame to rest. I was puzzling this through when he repeated his question.
“Daaaaad! IS BUTTLICK A BAD WORD?!” he slowly, and forcefully repeated.
Me: “Yes, son, you know it is. We don’t say the word butt, we certainly don’t say it as a combination with another word. Butt is a bad word, so we don’t say words that have butt in them.”
Squeaer: (after thinking for a few seconds) “We can’t say the word butler?” he asked incredulously.
Showing posts with label Squealer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Squealer. Show all posts
Friday, July 24, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
End of the Year Party
In the chaos of Squealer’s end of the year kindergarten party, Bruce caught my eye. His oversized build and beefy hands indicated a comfort level more accustomed to working outside rather than in. I joined him on the periphery of activity as one of the few fathers there for the school day party. Kadie walked up and introduced herself. She asked who he was married to and he mumbled a self-conscious reply that he wasn’t married.
We were saved from an uncomfortable silence by the announcement that the kids were going to scrap book some pictures that the teacher had taken throughout the year. The parents huddled around large pieces of construction paper and began putting titles, photographs, and stencils in their proper places on the paper. Since I had the camera (and Kadie has the artistic skills) I stood back and observed. My eyes and attention returned to Bruce.
Bruce was looking over his daughter’s shoulder and working on getting the “Kindergarten 2008-2009” title centered in the middle of the page. He then carefully stretched four strips of tape over each corner and said “Ok, now, umm…let’s get some of the pictures in place” he said hesitantly. As the only father at the table of moms, he looked clearly out of his element.
“That’s not right!”
My gaze shifted to a large, older woman standing next to Bruce. She was apparently a grandmother who was forced into the background as her daughter helped her grand-daughter. She was also the one who had made the beautiful end of the year cake for the class and obviously had an artistic gift. I’m unsure whether she was talking to Bruce’s daughter or to Bruce himself.
“You see, that’s double sticky tape. You don’t put it on the corners of the paper!”
Bruce looked confused. “But you have to tape the title in the middle of the page” he said, uncertainly.
“Here, let me show you” she said as she carefully peeled the tape off the paper. She then folded the tape back on itself and placed the tape behind the title so that the tape didn’t show at all. “There, that’s right, don’t you like that better?” Bruce’s daughter nodded hesitantly.
The large older woman then said (to herself as much as to anyone else) “Now, let’s see what’s next.”
Over the next half hour, Bruce stood off to the side while this woman worked on his daughter’s page. As they created an impressive work of scrap book art, Bruce was pushed closer to the periphery. He seemed tortured the whole time. His body language indicated that he desperately wanted to work with his daughter on the project, but he realized that the work would be much more beautiful if he continued to allow the woman to help.
My heart ached as I watched all this. Most single parents I know and think about are single women raising kids on their own. But few things can be tougher emotionally than for a single father to raise a daughter on his own. The emotional distance is so vast.
After the party I shook Bruce’s hand and told him that I hoped our kids were in the same class again next year. I’d love to get to know him better.
We were saved from an uncomfortable silence by the announcement that the kids were going to scrap book some pictures that the teacher had taken throughout the year. The parents huddled around large pieces of construction paper and began putting titles, photographs, and stencils in their proper places on the paper. Since I had the camera (and Kadie has the artistic skills) I stood back and observed. My eyes and attention returned to Bruce.
Bruce was looking over his daughter’s shoulder and working on getting the “Kindergarten 2008-2009” title centered in the middle of the page. He then carefully stretched four strips of tape over each corner and said “Ok, now, umm…let’s get some of the pictures in place” he said hesitantly. As the only father at the table of moms, he looked clearly out of his element.
“That’s not right!”
My gaze shifted to a large, older woman standing next to Bruce. She was apparently a grandmother who was forced into the background as her daughter helped her grand-daughter. She was also the one who had made the beautiful end of the year cake for the class and obviously had an artistic gift. I’m unsure whether she was talking to Bruce’s daughter or to Bruce himself.
“You see, that’s double sticky tape. You don’t put it on the corners of the paper!”
Bruce looked confused. “But you have to tape the title in the middle of the page” he said, uncertainly.
“Here, let me show you” she said as she carefully peeled the tape off the paper. She then folded the tape back on itself and placed the tape behind the title so that the tape didn’t show at all. “There, that’s right, don’t you like that better?” Bruce’s daughter nodded hesitantly.
The large older woman then said (to herself as much as to anyone else) “Now, let’s see what’s next.”
Over the next half hour, Bruce stood off to the side while this woman worked on his daughter’s page. As they created an impressive work of scrap book art, Bruce was pushed closer to the periphery. He seemed tortured the whole time. His body language indicated that he desperately wanted to work with his daughter on the project, but he realized that the work would be much more beautiful if he continued to allow the woman to help.
My heart ached as I watched all this. Most single parents I know and think about are single women raising kids on their own. But few things can be tougher emotionally than for a single father to raise a daughter on his own. The emotional distance is so vast.
After the party I shook Bruce’s hand and told him that I hoped our kids were in the same class again next year. I’d love to get to know him better.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Conduct
For just the second time this semester, Squealer is on the verge of getting straight A’s in conduct for a week of class. Every day the kids in his kindergarten get a grade for behavior. Squealer demolishes spelling tests, crushes his math work, and blitzes his geography. But conduct is his kryptonite and an ongoing challenge. He has a list of five rules for class behavior and can recite them when prompted. He struggles the most with the rules “Control yourself” and “Be quiet at appropriate times.” Every time they violate one of the rules, they drop a letter grade.
To try to encourage good behavior, we’ve decided that a week’s worth of A’s gets him a present, a dollar, and a trip to Baskin Robbin’s Ice Cream. But we’ve only had to pay out once this school year, and it remains an elusive goal. So we gave him an extra encouraging hug this morning before he got on his bus and reminded him of what’s on the line. He nodded soberly. He knows what’s at stake today.
So Kadie and I will busy ourselves with our daily routines, but keep one eye on the clock looking forward to when he gets home on the bus.
All creation waits in expectation.
To try to encourage good behavior, we’ve decided that a week’s worth of A’s gets him a present, a dollar, and a trip to Baskin Robbin’s Ice Cream. But we’ve only had to pay out once this school year, and it remains an elusive goal. So we gave him an extra encouraging hug this morning before he got on his bus and reminded him of what’s on the line. He nodded soberly. He knows what’s at stake today.
So Kadie and I will busy ourselves with our daily routines, but keep one eye on the clock looking forward to when he gets home on the bus.
All creation waits in expectation.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The House of the Sick
Squealer has been sick throughout this week. Influenza A. “That’s the most contagious kind!” the doctor’s assistant informed us in a chirpy voice. He’s been home all week, feeling pretty beat down. When Scooter arrived home Tuesday, he was lying on the couch with his eyes closed, but not asleep. Just feeling awful. Scooter said “It really doesn’t feel the same around here without Squealer running around destroying everything.”
Indeed.
But she’s right of course, the house of the sick doesn’t feel right for the whole family. Whenever one of us goes down, things are out of sync until they revive. I would expect that to be true for the parents, but its interesting to see that its true for the kids as well. There is a certain stability, a routine we fall into. When the family is firing on only four, instead of five cylinders, it’s not the same.
I’ve been reminded this week of one time when I was sick, around the age of five or six…exactly the age of Squealer right now. I had some severe illness that prevented me from holding down any liquid, and I remember being desperately thirsty. For some reason beyond my understanding, Mom and Dad wouldn’t give me any water. I couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) connect the dots between drinking liquid, and then ummm….undrinking it a few minutes later.
So I recall sneaking out of bed one night and beginning the process of crawling down the hall to the bathroom. I knew that a cup of cool, cool water awaited. But shortly before I reached the oasis, my father silently walked up behind me, scooped me up and carried me back to bed. He again patiently explained why I couldn’t have any water. I wonder how many of these evenings Squealer will remember. The way he's feeling, I hope not many.
Indeed.
But she’s right of course, the house of the sick doesn’t feel right for the whole family. Whenever one of us goes down, things are out of sync until they revive. I would expect that to be true for the parents, but its interesting to see that its true for the kids as well. There is a certain stability, a routine we fall into. When the family is firing on only four, instead of five cylinders, it’s not the same.
I’ve been reminded this week of one time when I was sick, around the age of five or six…exactly the age of Squealer right now. I had some severe illness that prevented me from holding down any liquid, and I remember being desperately thirsty. For some reason beyond my understanding, Mom and Dad wouldn’t give me any water. I couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) connect the dots between drinking liquid, and then ummm….undrinking it a few minutes later.
So I recall sneaking out of bed one night and beginning the process of crawling down the hall to the bathroom. I knew that a cup of cool, cool water awaited. But shortly before I reached the oasis, my father silently walked up behind me, scooped me up and carried me back to bed. He again patiently explained why I couldn’t have any water. I wonder how many of these evenings Squealer will remember. The way he's feeling, I hope not many.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Fridays are for Family
The Sunday I went to Pecan Grove in view of a call, the church requested that I bring the family to meet them and to give us a lunch fellowship. After the morning service, the church hosted a reception for the family, but asked me to stay in the sanctuary and answer questions. The kids went on to eat lunch while Kadie stayed with me until the Q and A ended. They asked us a lot of questions.
By the time Kadie and I arrived in the Fellowship Hall, the Scooter, Skeeter, and Squealer and were finished eating. Squealer was completely wired, so I asked Skeeter to take him into another room so that we could finish our meal and fellowshipping with people. She took him into the toddler Sunday school room down the hall from the Fellowship area and left him there to play.
After several minutes, I completed my meal and went to the dessert table to get some pecan pie (natch!) when I saw movement coming down the hall. It was Squealer. He was heading back down from the kids' classroom, coming back into the Fellowship hall. But he was walking very strangely, quite gingerly, as though he were walking across Niagara Falls on a tightrope with his arms out from his side. He was also looking down at the ground the whole time, but I couldn’t see what he was looking at. So I stepped over to the side so I could see down the hall at what held his attention in such a powerful grip. I immediately set down my pie as my eyes went down to his feet and what he was wearing on them.
A pair of pumps.
Purple Pumps.
Plastic Purple Pumps.
Princess Purple Plastic Pumps.
Apparently, the toddler room contained several princess outfits and Squealer had helped himself to a pair of princess shoes.Perhaps he heard my gasp, or sensed my inspection, because he looked up and our eyes locked in place. We both froze, uncertain how to proceed. Then, a devilish grin crossed his lips.
And he began “running” for the Fellowship Hall.
I didn’t want to yell at him from across the room (attention was the last thing I wanted) so I tried to walk/run to the doorway before he reached it.
And I almost made it.
He beat me to the doorway by a half step and shot into the fellowship hall. All eyes in the room turned toward him (plastic pumps are LOUD on a tile floor) as he dashed/slid into the middle of the fellowship hall in front of God (presumably) and everyone. There was a half second of shock as every brain in the room slowly processed this unexpected sight. Then the entire room erupted in laughter. And Squealer loved every second of it. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Squealer ended up right next to an aged deacon who looked him carefully up and down. The deacon then slowly turned to me and said:"Brother Taran, I've just thought of a few more questions I need to ask you before we vote."
By the time Kadie and I arrived in the Fellowship Hall, the Scooter, Skeeter, and Squealer and were finished eating. Squealer was completely wired, so I asked Skeeter to take him into another room so that we could finish our meal and fellowshipping with people. She took him into the toddler Sunday school room down the hall from the Fellowship area and left him there to play.
After several minutes, I completed my meal and went to the dessert table to get some pecan pie (natch!) when I saw movement coming down the hall. It was Squealer. He was heading back down from the kids' classroom, coming back into the Fellowship hall. But he was walking very strangely, quite gingerly, as though he were walking across Niagara Falls on a tightrope with his arms out from his side. He was also looking down at the ground the whole time, but I couldn’t see what he was looking at. So I stepped over to the side so I could see down the hall at what held his attention in such a powerful grip. I immediately set down my pie as my eyes went down to his feet and what he was wearing on them.
A pair of pumps.
Purple Pumps.
Plastic Purple Pumps.
Princess Purple Plastic Pumps.
Apparently, the toddler room contained several princess outfits and Squealer had helped himself to a pair of princess shoes.Perhaps he heard my gasp, or sensed my inspection, because he looked up and our eyes locked in place. We both froze, uncertain how to proceed. Then, a devilish grin crossed his lips.
And he began “running” for the Fellowship Hall.
I didn’t want to yell at him from across the room (attention was the last thing I wanted) so I tried to walk/run to the doorway before he reached it.
And I almost made it.
He beat me to the doorway by a half step and shot into the fellowship hall. All eyes in the room turned toward him (plastic pumps are LOUD on a tile floor) as he dashed/slid into the middle of the fellowship hall in front of God (presumably) and everyone. There was a half second of shock as every brain in the room slowly processed this unexpected sight. Then the entire room erupted in laughter. And Squealer loved every second of it. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Squealer ended up right next to an aged deacon who looked him carefully up and down. The deacon then slowly turned to me and said:"Brother Taran, I've just thought of a few more questions I need to ask you before we vote."
Thursday, November 20, 2008
True feelings
This morning, Squealer wandered through the house shouting my name. When he finally found me he said “Daddy, Scooter called me weird!” Now weird is one of those nebulous words that is highly discouraged, but not actually forbidden in our house. Still, it’s unusual for Scooter to use that term with her brother. But clearly it was a situation that I had to address.
When I went into the living room I found Scooter sitting on the couch reading a book. I said “Scooter, did you really call Squealer weird?”
Without raising an eye she shrugged and said “Somebody had to finally let him know.”
When I went into the living room I found Scooter sitting on the couch reading a book. I said “Scooter, did you really call Squealer weird?”
Without raising an eye she shrugged and said “Somebody had to finally let him know.”
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Deep Waters Ahead
Over the last few weeks, I’ve shared some special moments with my kids. With the small perspective that being a parent for 13 years provides, I know that these moments are fleeting. The brevity of childhood hit me years ago, the first afternoon I arrived home from work and Scooter didn’t meet me at the door with a shrieking “Daddy’s Home!!!!”
What I’ve long known in the abstract I’ve now witnessed in the concrete: kids grow up. Even worse, my kids grow up. So over the course of the last month, I’ve had three experiences that I know won’t last much longer. I feel like I’m walking from the shallow end of my kid’s childhood to the deep end of the pool where teen years and adulthood lie in wait. My toes can still touch the bottom, but not for much longer.
We’ve recently wrapped up soccer for the second season and the kids all loved it. But unlike last year, Squealer seemed to finally get the point of the game this year. He scored his first goal in his first game. A writhing, amazing shot as he fell down under a heap of defenders. As he scored the goal, simultaneously falling face first to the ground, he laid on his stomach with one fist raised victoriously in the air. His eyes met mine and he scrambled up and sprinted toward me on the sideline and gave me an enormous hug. Thus it started a trend. Whenever he scored a goal this season (a not uncommon occurrence, given his mother’s athletic abilities) he sprinted toward the sidelines and hugged me. It made me hope for high scoring games.
Skeeter recently, out of the blue, asked me a question I hadn’t heard in years “Daddy, can you rock me tonight?” And so, for the first time in a good two or three years, she crawled up into my lap (much smaller now than it used to be) and we rocked, although her feet were practically touching the ground. He face was in the crook of my arm as we sang and talked and pretty soon I felt moisture on my arm. Realizing she was crying, I asked her what was wrong. She said “I don’t want to go away to college. I want to stay here with you and Mom.” So of course, not only was my arm wet, but soon her hair as well. I don’t know how many more times I’ll get to rock her, but such moments too are disappearing. And of course, when the day comes for her to leave for college, I’ll be the one wishing she could stay while she’ll be the one looking forward to new adventures.
Scooter is the biggest and the oldest, neither hugging Dad in public nor rocking with him in private. But she still gets happy when I’m able to stop by her school for lunch. She likes it when I sit with her and her friends at the lunch table and they explain to me again all of the intricacies of early teen life. She rolls her eyes at my corny jokes and turns beet red in front of her friends when I display my attempts at cool lingo “Between us, let’s keep it on the ‘LD” or “That new group is really on the chain!” But her face lights up whenever I get the chance to come by and she gives me a quick peck on the cheek goodbye when her friends are safely around the corner.
But I can see changes coming. Squealer will one day celebrate goals with high fives instead of hugs and Skeeter will ask me for gas money instead of time in the rocking chair. Scooter will beg me to take her off campus to lunch instead of eating around her friends. But I’ll treasure these moments and I’ll miss them at the same time.
My feet can still touch the bottom, but not for much longer.
What I’ve long known in the abstract I’ve now witnessed in the concrete: kids grow up. Even worse, my kids grow up. So over the course of the last month, I’ve had three experiences that I know won’t last much longer. I feel like I’m walking from the shallow end of my kid’s childhood to the deep end of the pool where teen years and adulthood lie in wait. My toes can still touch the bottom, but not for much longer.
We’ve recently wrapped up soccer for the second season and the kids all loved it. But unlike last year, Squealer seemed to finally get the point of the game this year. He scored his first goal in his first game. A writhing, amazing shot as he fell down under a heap of defenders. As he scored the goal, simultaneously falling face first to the ground, he laid on his stomach with one fist raised victoriously in the air. His eyes met mine and he scrambled up and sprinted toward me on the sideline and gave me an enormous hug. Thus it started a trend. Whenever he scored a goal this season (a not uncommon occurrence, given his mother’s athletic abilities) he sprinted toward the sidelines and hugged me. It made me hope for high scoring games.
Skeeter recently, out of the blue, asked me a question I hadn’t heard in years “Daddy, can you rock me tonight?” And so, for the first time in a good two or three years, she crawled up into my lap (much smaller now than it used to be) and we rocked, although her feet were practically touching the ground. He face was in the crook of my arm as we sang and talked and pretty soon I felt moisture on my arm. Realizing she was crying, I asked her what was wrong. She said “I don’t want to go away to college. I want to stay here with you and Mom.” So of course, not only was my arm wet, but soon her hair as well. I don’t know how many more times I’ll get to rock her, but such moments too are disappearing. And of course, when the day comes for her to leave for college, I’ll be the one wishing she could stay while she’ll be the one looking forward to new adventures.
Scooter is the biggest and the oldest, neither hugging Dad in public nor rocking with him in private. But she still gets happy when I’m able to stop by her school for lunch. She likes it when I sit with her and her friends at the lunch table and they explain to me again all of the intricacies of early teen life. She rolls her eyes at my corny jokes and turns beet red in front of her friends when I display my attempts at cool lingo “Between us, let’s keep it on the ‘LD” or “That new group is really on the chain!” But her face lights up whenever I get the chance to come by and she gives me a quick peck on the cheek goodbye when her friends are safely around the corner.
But I can see changes coming. Squealer will one day celebrate goals with high fives instead of hugs and Skeeter will ask me for gas money instead of time in the rocking chair. Scooter will beg me to take her off campus to lunch instead of eating around her friends. But I’ll treasure these moments and I’ll miss them at the same time.
My feet can still touch the bottom, but not for much longer.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
To the Four Winds...
Life has (yet again) accelerated around our household. For the first time in thirteen years, each of our kids is in school. Scooter occupies the Alpha position in middle school as an eighth-grader, the queen of all she surveys. Peasant sixth graders cower in her presence. Skeeter is in the same position as a fifth grader in elementary school, at the pinnacle of the heap. At the other end of the food chain is Squealer, a small kindergartener who is still adjusting to this new (and exhilarating) world outside our household.
Having three kids at three different schools has stretched our meager planning and scheduling skills to the breaking point. Mornings begin early and race by. Scooter heads to the front yard at 6:59 am for her 7:00 bus stop. (Yes, I’m mostly over my first impression from a couple of years ago). After much prayer and anguish, we decided to let Squealer ride the bus. This concerned us, because with his diminutive size (and his giftedness in bothering people) we were concerned about him being tossed out one of the bus windows. But after an extended phone conversation with the bus driver (and the reality of his school being some distance from our home) we decided to give it a shot. He too must be at a bus stop for a 7:00 am pick up, about a mile from our house. Skeeter leaves the house at 7:30 via bike. Her school is .9 miles from our home and you must be 1 mile away to ride the bus. So despite the fact that she must cross a pretty major thoroughfare, we decided to take the plunge and let her ride. She loves the responsibility and freedom that a bike gives her.
So every morning, our three kids are scattered to the four winds. A bike, two buses and a multitude of prayers fan out across our community every morning. And we are reminded again that they are in His hands.
Having three kids at three different schools has stretched our meager planning and scheduling skills to the breaking point. Mornings begin early and race by. Scooter heads to the front yard at 6:59 am for her 7:00 bus stop. (Yes, I’m mostly over my first impression from a couple of years ago). After much prayer and anguish, we decided to let Squealer ride the bus. This concerned us, because with his diminutive size (and his giftedness in bothering people) we were concerned about him being tossed out one of the bus windows. But after an extended phone conversation with the bus driver (and the reality of his school being some distance from our home) we decided to give it a shot. He too must be at a bus stop for a 7:00 am pick up, about a mile from our house. Skeeter leaves the house at 7:30 via bike. Her school is .9 miles from our home and you must be 1 mile away to ride the bus. So despite the fact that she must cross a pretty major thoroughfare, we decided to take the plunge and let her ride. She loves the responsibility and freedom that a bike gives her.
So every morning, our three kids are scattered to the four winds. A bike, two buses and a multitude of prayers fan out across our community every morning. And we are reminded again that they are in His hands.
Exactly where they've been all along.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Partial Bovine Missiles...
Several years ago, we received a Leapfrog Fridge Magnetic Farm Animal set. This toy/learning device sticks to your refrigerator and is accompanied by several farm animals which also stick to your fridge. You put both halves of the animals in the barn and mash them and they moo, cluck, oink or whatever. Or you can switch a button and mash them and then they spell the name of the animal. Due to the incredible power of inertia (consistently the most powerful force in our household), this rural structure has remained on our refrigerator for years, even though Squealer has left toddlerhood far behind. Squealer had generally forgotten about them….until a few days ago. I was in the living room and I began to hear some pretty intense wailing coming from the kitchen.
Skeeter: “Waaah!”
I ran into the room where Skeeter wailed while Squealer looked around somewhat disinterestedly. “What happened here?”
Skeeter: “Squealer threw a cow at me! Waah!!!”
Squealer: “No I didn’t! She’s lying.”
Skeeter: Stopped crying, in shock and her little brother’s cool prevarication. “Yes you did, you hit me with that cow right there.” She pointed by the dishwasher and guiltily resting there was the purple butt end of the cow magnet.
Squealer, shaking his head insistently: “I didn’t hit you with the cow, I hit you with a part of the cow.”
I said “Squealer is that true, did you hit her with the cow—I mean part of the cow” I added when I saw him beginning to object.
“Yes sir.”
“Do we throw things?”
“No sir, but it was just a part of the cow.”
I struggled for a moment before amending my next question “Do we throw parts of cows?”
“No sir.”
“You still need to apologize to your sister.”
“Skeeter, I’m sorry I hit you in the face with a part of the cow” he gently said.
She sniffled patiently and replied “I forgive you Squealer, for hitting me in the face with a part of a cow.”
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
If you sprinkle...
(I hope the reader (use of the singular is intentional) will forgive a PG-13 digression from the recent run on Pastor Search Committee information.)
The past several weeks, the bathroom that each of the three kids share has smelled. It’s smelled like a men’s locker room. Actually it’s smelled more like a men’s restroom. Specifically, it’s smelled of urine. With a large crack running down the side of the toilet,Kadie and I resigned ourselves to getting a plumber to come out and repair the crack before the raw smell drives the kids crazy.
The past several weeks, the bathroom that each of the three kids share has smelled. It’s smelled like a men’s locker room. Actually it’s smelled more like a men’s restroom. Specifically, it’s smelled of urine. With a large crack running down the side of the toilet,Kadie and I resigned ourselves to getting a plumber to come out and repair the crack before the raw smell drives the kids crazy.
With that background, Scooter came to me a few days ago and said “Dad, Squealer tinkled on the bathroom seat. You should talk to him about it.”
I sat there silently for a moment and digested this information. Then I somewhat sheepishly replied (with hands held out in supplication):
“Scooter, who among us can possibly cast the first stone at that transgression? I mean, to expect any male in general and a five year old boy in particular to carefully raise the seat every time he...” But she quickly interrupted.
“No, Dad, you don’t understand. He had the seat up! “
My mind turned slowly as I processed this new information. It did not compute, so I inquired further. “But Scooter, how could he urinate on the bathroom seat if it’s up?”
“Dad, he peed on the bottom of the upraised seat!!!”
We were both a little surprised that she used the term “pee”. She’s normally sensitive to the appropriateness of her language. In her defense, however, her brother pushed her over the edge in this instance.
A quick conversation with Squealer revealed the truth of his big sister’s outburst. He had been raising the lid of the toilet, then urinating in a slow circle around its underside, like a meticulous firefighter extinguishing a ring of fire from the circus.
After an extensive conversation, he’s resolved not to repeat the behavior.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
BFMOTY
My first Bad Father Moment of The Year (BFMOTY) occurred on Monday. The morning was atypical. First, it was Squealer’s birthday as he turned five years old. Plus, two new kids shattered our normal morning routine. Kadie has an RN coworker who needed us to take her two boys to school for her. They go to Skeeter’s school and we were glad to do it.
The two kids arrived at 6:30 am and we fed them breakfast. They are nine and seven and, naturally, overflowing with excess energy. When Squealer wandered in at 7:00 he saw two strange boys sitting at his breakfast table eating oatmeal. Since Squealer had just awakened, he stared his unfocusing eyes at these two strangers at his table. In a thoughtless moment, I instinctively blurted out “Squealer, these are your two new brothers. Happy Birthday!” Much to the laughter of all.
After the boys finished their breakfast they proceeded to chase, push, and tickle Squealer until they went off to school. Squealer loved it. That night as Squealer prepared for bed, he prayed “Thank you God for my brothers.” Then the next morning as he wandered into the kitchen populated only by his two sisters, and asked plaintively “Where are my brothers?”
Making matters even worse was the fact that I was out of town and Kadie had to explain to Squealer that I was just joking the day before.
When I returned she told me the whole story and I said “Thanks for cleaning up after my mess.”
“Yet again” she added.
The two kids arrived at 6:30 am and we fed them breakfast. They are nine and seven and, naturally, overflowing with excess energy. When Squealer wandered in at 7:00 he saw two strange boys sitting at his breakfast table eating oatmeal. Since Squealer had just awakened, he stared his unfocusing eyes at these two strangers at his table. In a thoughtless moment, I instinctively blurted out “Squealer, these are your two new brothers. Happy Birthday!” Much to the laughter of all.
After the boys finished their breakfast they proceeded to chase, push, and tickle Squealer until they went off to school. Squealer loved it. That night as Squealer prepared for bed, he prayed “Thank you God for my brothers.” Then the next morning as he wandered into the kitchen populated only by his two sisters, and asked plaintively “Where are my brothers?”
Making matters even worse was the fact that I was out of town and Kadie had to explain to Squealer that I was just joking the day before.
When I returned she told me the whole story and I said “Thanks for cleaning up after my mess.”
“Yet again” she added.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Soccer Finale
Like a meteorite streaking across the fall sky, soccer season has now come and gone. The kids played their last games on Saturday. Squealer’s team performed exceptionally well. It’s interesting to note that some kids just seem to “get it” at an earlier age than others. I’d guess that 95% of the goals were scored by about 4% of the kids. Squealer’s team had one kid who got it and she scored 4 or 5 goals a game. The other kids scored only when the mob of kids happened to migrate into a net. Squealer scored a couple of goals throughout the season, but spent a lot of his time zoning out on both butter and dragon flies.
Strangely, right after his final game, he was stung by a bee. I tried to comfort him by explaining the impressive symmetry that the bee sting brought to the season, bookending his and Scooter’s experiences with soccer, but he didn’t find much succor in that.
Scooter’s team was beaten day in and day out throughout the season. There were three teams in her league and the other two teams just beat on her team relentlessly. They lost all their games. She had a blast though, manning (?!) the defender’s position and blasting out soccer balls whenever they came her way.
Skeeter’s team performed well. We (for I am an assistant coach on this team) played the much hated Red team for our final game. We had played them in our initial game and they pasted us 5 to 1. They then went undefeated the rest of the season. Shockingly, we also went undefeated, although we had one tie game.
In this final game we scored two quick goals and then managed to hold onto a 2-1 win over the fearsome Red team. After the game, the opposing coach told me that our two defenders (back guarding the goal) were the difference. “Every time we got back there, one of those two little girls would clear the ball out. They were the difference in the game.” Needless to say, Skeeter was one of those two. Because of our tie, the hated Red team won first place.
Strangely, right after his final game, he was stung by a bee. I tried to comfort him by explaining the impressive symmetry that the bee sting brought to the season, bookending his and Scooter’s experiences with soccer, but he didn’t find much succor in that.
Scooter’s team was beaten day in and day out throughout the season. There were three teams in her league and the other two teams just beat on her team relentlessly. They lost all their games. She had a blast though, manning (?!) the defender’s position and blasting out soccer balls whenever they came her way.
Skeeter’s team performed well. We (for I am an assistant coach on this team) played the much hated Red team for our final game. We had played them in our initial game and they pasted us 5 to 1. They then went undefeated the rest of the season. Shockingly, we also went undefeated, although we had one tie game.
In this final game we scored two quick goals and then managed to hold onto a 2-1 win over the fearsome Red team. After the game, the opposing coach told me that our two defenders (back guarding the goal) were the difference. “Every time we got back there, one of those two little girls would clear the ball out. They were the difference in the game.” Needless to say, Skeeter was one of those two. Because of our tie, the hated Red team won first place.
Final Thoughts:
1. It was worth it. Trying to watch three kids playing on three different fields at three different times was often a pain, but they all enjoyed it.
2. A church league offers just a slight reduction in the insanity level of parents. I suspect that it doesn’t happen all the time, this leagues was a good choice.
3. The cheesy pablum often offered up about team sports is true. It’s good for kids to work with other kids toward a competitive goal. The children learned a lot and I suspect we’ll be doing it again next year.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Frogs and Doughnuts
“The frog jumped off the log and onto the blue lily pad” said a serious voice.
I wasn’t sure what to do with that information.
I wasn’t sure what to do with that information.
Kadie was on the other end of the phone, driving home from picking up Squealer from his preschool program.
“Hmmm” I replied, trying to match the gravity in her voice.
“You have no idea what that means, do you?”
Silence.
Finally, I said “Nope” popping the “p” as much like Black Adder as I possibly could.
She sighed wearily, reminded yet again about how often she must explain things to the other four members of the household, and with a voice of resignation said “All the kids in Squealer’s class have frogs with their names on them sitting on a log. When the kids misbehave, their frog jumps onto a blue lily-pad. If the kid continues to misbehave, the frog next jumps onto the red lily pad and a note goes home to their parents.”
A few minutes before, Squealer had gotten into the car and announced to his Mom that his frog “fell off the log” and onto the blue lily pad. I loved how he described the frog as “falling off,” thus absolving himself from all blame by characterizing himself as a helpless pawn who is merely the passive recipient of universal forces far beyond his ken.
As punishment, we grounded him from Words World.
{In an unrelated note, whenever Squealer gets out of his bed at night and starts roaming the house, Scooter normally sees him first. When she sees him she announces in an official sounding voice “The jelly has left the doughnut.” I’m unsure where she first heard this, but it never fails to induce laughter from me.}
“Hmmm” I replied, trying to match the gravity in her voice.
“You have no idea what that means, do you?”
Silence.
Finally, I said “Nope” popping the “p” as much like Black Adder as I possibly could.
She sighed wearily, reminded yet again about how often she must explain things to the other four members of the household, and with a voice of resignation said “All the kids in Squealer’s class have frogs with their names on them sitting on a log. When the kids misbehave, their frog jumps onto a blue lily-pad. If the kid continues to misbehave, the frog next jumps onto the red lily pad and a note goes home to their parents.”
A few minutes before, Squealer had gotten into the car and announced to his Mom that his frog “fell off the log” and onto the blue lily pad. I loved how he described the frog as “falling off,” thus absolving himself from all blame by characterizing himself as a helpless pawn who is merely the passive recipient of universal forces far beyond his ken.
As punishment, we grounded him from Words World.
{In an unrelated note, whenever Squealer gets out of his bed at night and starts roaming the house, Scooter normally sees him first. When she sees him she announces in an official sounding voice “The jelly has left the doughnut.” I’m unsure where she first heard this, but it never fails to induce laughter from me.}
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Thrill of Victory...
Soccer Round-Up
Squealer:
Squealer’s and Scooter’s games were at the same time, so we ended up running back and forth between them. I had Squealer duty first and saw him score his first goal!!!!!! Or rather to say, that he was at the head of the scrum that migrated into the goal along with the ball (and about three of the kids).
His team was superior to their opponents only by virtue of the fact that they were a little older and thus concentrated on the game the whole time. The other team was quickly distracted and would only have three of the four kids going after the ball at any given time. Squealer ended the game in goal, although the ball spent the entire time down at the other end of the field (pitch?). I was behind him in the goal as a helicopter parent, trying to keep him interested in the game. The game ended without the other team even shooting at his goal while he was goalie. He was quite sad and lamented “I didn’t get to play.”
By far the most excitement of the game was afterwards when there were snacks. When the coach announced that there were snacks, there went up a tremendous cry and they assaulted the mother who was unfortunate enough to have drawn snack duty for game one. While he ate his snack, Squealer was bitten by an ant in an, uhhh uncomfortable and private place that necessitated a trip to the doctor’s office today (he’s fine).
Scooter:
I didn’t catch as much of her game, but she played very well as a defender during the time I watched. She cleared the ball out from her end of the field (pitch?) on numerous occasions and her team won 3 to 1. The low point of the game came right after she went in and I was distracted talking to Skeeter. When I looked back out there I saw that she was crying and clutching her thigh. I yelled at her (while the game was ongoing) and asked her what was wrong. She told me that a bee had just bitten her on her leg.
When she came off she was crying hard (it was her first bee sting). Through tears she said “Well, at least it died.(sniff, sniff)” I said “Did you kill it?” Through her tears she rolled her eyes and said “Daddy, everyone knows that a bee dies after it stings you.” Ummm..right, I certainly knew that, though entymology was not foremost in my mind with a weeping daughter.
Skeeter:
We were smoked. Destroyed utterly. Due no doubt to excessively poor coaching we were pummeled 4 to 2. Skeeter played well and aggressively. A pall was cast over the team when one of the coach’s daughters took a wicked shot to the mouth by soccer ball. It was apocalyptic as she bit her tongue and blood flowed as high as a horse's bridle profusely. The little girl is Skeeter’s best friend and Skeeter was sad for the rest of the day. (Although she is also doing better today).
All in all, I think the following video summarizes our day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPk_IZ44DMc
Squealer:
Squealer’s and Scooter’s games were at the same time, so we ended up running back and forth between them. I had Squealer duty first and saw him score his first goal!!!!!! Or rather to say, that he was at the head of the scrum that migrated into the goal along with the ball (and about three of the kids).
His team was superior to their opponents only by virtue of the fact that they were a little older and thus concentrated on the game the whole time. The other team was quickly distracted and would only have three of the four kids going after the ball at any given time. Squealer ended the game in goal, although the ball spent the entire time down at the other end of the field (pitch?). I was behind him in the goal as a helicopter parent, trying to keep him interested in the game. The game ended without the other team even shooting at his goal while he was goalie. He was quite sad and lamented “I didn’t get to play.”
By far the most excitement of the game was afterwards when there were snacks. When the coach announced that there were snacks, there went up a tremendous cry and they assaulted the mother who was unfortunate enough to have drawn snack duty for game one. While he ate his snack, Squealer was bitten by an ant in an, uhhh uncomfortable and private place that necessitated a trip to the doctor’s office today (he’s fine).
Scooter:
I didn’t catch as much of her game, but she played very well as a defender during the time I watched. She cleared the ball out from her end of the field (pitch?) on numerous occasions and her team won 3 to 1. The low point of the game came right after she went in and I was distracted talking to Skeeter. When I looked back out there I saw that she was crying and clutching her thigh. I yelled at her (while the game was ongoing) and asked her what was wrong. She told me that a bee had just bitten her on her leg.
When she came off she was crying hard (it was her first bee sting). Through tears she said “Well, at least it died.(sniff, sniff)” I said “Did you kill it?” Through her tears she rolled her eyes and said “Daddy, everyone knows that a bee dies after it stings you.” Ummm..right, I certainly knew that, though entymology was not foremost in my mind with a weeping daughter.
Skeeter:
We were smoked. Destroyed utterly. Due no doubt to excessively poor coaching we were pummeled 4 to 2. Skeeter played well and aggressively. A pall was cast over the team when one of the coach’s daughters took a wicked shot to the mouth by soccer ball. It was apocalyptic as she bit her tongue and blood flowed as high as a horse's bridle profusely. The little girl is Skeeter’s best friend and Skeeter was sad for the rest of the day. (Although she is also doing better today).
All in all, I think the following video summarizes our day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPk_IZ44DMc
Monday, July 02, 2007
Words
Squealer has lately begun using words both as a cudgel and a scalpel against his sisters
An example of each:
A cudgel…
Squealer: “Daddy, is chickenhead a bad word??”
Me: “Ummm…..no, not really.”
Squealer (turning to Scooter) “You CHICKENHEAD! You’re a CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD!!!!!!!!!!!”
And as a scalpel
Squealer: “Skeeter, you’re a BUTTon-HEAD”
Me: “Squealer, you’re one syllable away from a spanking…..”
"Head" is the preferred suffix of choice, rendering most any word into an expletive.
An example of each:
A cudgel…
Squealer: “Daddy, is chickenhead a bad word??”
Me: “Ummm…..no, not really.”
Squealer (turning to Scooter) “You CHICKENHEAD! You’re a CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD!!!!!!!!!!!”
And as a scalpel
Squealer: “Skeeter, you’re a BUTTon-HEAD”
Me: “Squealer, you’re one syllable away from a spanking…..”
"Head" is the preferred suffix of choice, rendering most any word into an expletive.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Technically, he's correct...
Driving to Sam's to pick up some bulk necessities
Squealer "Daddy, Bears live in the forest and sleep during the day so they can be awake during the night.
Taran: "Yes, very good."
(Let me interrupt this narrative to make a few points. I have no idea where this stuff comes from. I assume he got it from a story at Mother's Day Out or a Little Einstein episode. I'm also not exactly sure that he's right. Are bears really nocturnal? Do all of those bear attacks take place during the night? Most of the footage of bears I've seen is during the day.)
Squealer: "But we don't sleep in the day, we sleep in the night. Bears sleep in the day."
Taran: "Yes. That's because bears are nocturnal."
Squealer: "……."
Taran: "Can you say nocturnal?"
Squealer: (Very deliberately) "Noc-turn-al. Nocturnal"
Taran: Enthusiastically. "Very Good, Squealer!! Can you think of other animals that are nocturnal?"
Squealer: (After thinking carefully for a few seconds) "Dogs."
Taran: "Dogs?!"
Squealer "Yes, Dogs. Dogs are not turtles."
Squealer "Daddy, Bears live in the forest and sleep during the day so they can be awake during the night.
Taran: "Yes, very good."
(Let me interrupt this narrative to make a few points. I have no idea where this stuff comes from. I assume he got it from a story at Mother's Day Out or a Little Einstein episode. I'm also not exactly sure that he's right. Are bears really nocturnal? Do all of those bear attacks take place during the night? Most of the footage of bears I've seen is during the day.)
Squealer: "But we don't sleep in the day, we sleep in the night. Bears sleep in the day."
Taran: "Yes. That's because bears are nocturnal."
Squealer: "……."
Taran: "Can you say nocturnal?"
Squealer: (Very deliberately) "Noc-turn-al. Nocturnal"
Taran: Enthusiastically. "Very Good, Squealer!! Can you think of other animals that are nocturnal?"
Squealer: (After thinking carefully for a few seconds) "Dogs."
Taran: "Dogs?!"
Squealer "Yes, Dogs. Dogs are not turtles."
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Easter Weekend
We had a busy and chilly Easter weekend. On Saturday morning the kids went Easter egg hunting (amid snow flurries) at our home church. Squealer remarked at one point that it felt like Halloween (a feeling encouraged, no doubt, by our decision to recycle his frog basket from Halloween into an “Easter” basket).
The first thing we do on Easter morning is hold a lengthy Easter egg scavenger hunt for the kids. Kadie and I compose a series of clues which direct the kids throughout the house. They then get to read each clue and figure out where the next egg is located.
After finding all the eggs, and their three Easter baskets (hidden in the dryer) we had breakfast at our home church before I went out to Susan Song. Squealer had the line of the morning after he received his first punishment of the day. (I like to think that he was getting his time-out right about the same time Mary Magdalane would’ve been arriving at the empty tomb).
After his time-out (for throwing his Easter breakfast across the gym at church) I told him that he was being disobedient. I explained to him the importance of being obedient to his Dad. He responded (I kid you not) “Daddy, I like to be obedient, but I don’t want to be obedient.” A great line, which I promptly stole for my sermon at Susan Song.
At Susan Song we had over twice our normal attendance, filling the pews at 32 people (I told them we were going to have to go to two services next Sunday). I preached the Philippian Christ Hymn in 2:5-11. Following the sermon we held the Lord’s Supper. I read Psalm 22 (then we shared the bread) then Psalm 23 (then we shared the juice) followed by Psalm 24. We then placed red and white carnations on a cross and it was beautiful.
This afternoon we celebrated the Easter tradition by dining on roast and eating scads of chocolate candy. In the evening, we watched the wonderful film The Miracle Maker (see trailer here). It is to my mind, without a doubt, the best adaptation of the life of Christ to film. It also happens to be claymation. Squealer, finding the life of our blessed Lord a bit slow, instead watched the theologically more subtle Madagascar.
All in all, a wonderful Easter weekend.
The first thing we do on Easter morning is hold a lengthy Easter egg scavenger hunt for the kids. Kadie and I compose a series of clues which direct the kids throughout the house. They then get to read each clue and figure out where the next egg is located.
After finding all the eggs, and their three Easter baskets (hidden in the dryer) we had breakfast at our home church before I went out to Susan Song. Squealer had the line of the morning after he received his first punishment of the day. (I like to think that he was getting his time-out right about the same time Mary Magdalane would’ve been arriving at the empty tomb).
After his time-out (for throwing his Easter breakfast across the gym at church) I told him that he was being disobedient. I explained to him the importance of being obedient to his Dad. He responded (I kid you not) “Daddy, I like to be obedient, but I don’t want to be obedient.” A great line, which I promptly stole for my sermon at Susan Song.
At Susan Song we had over twice our normal attendance, filling the pews at 32 people (I told them we were going to have to go to two services next Sunday). I preached the Philippian Christ Hymn in 2:5-11. Following the sermon we held the Lord’s Supper. I read Psalm 22 (then we shared the bread) then Psalm 23 (then we shared the juice) followed by Psalm 24. We then placed red and white carnations on a cross and it was beautiful.
This afternoon we celebrated the Easter tradition by dining on roast and eating scads of chocolate candy. In the evening, we watched the wonderful film The Miracle Maker (see trailer here). It is to my mind, without a doubt, the best adaptation of the life of Christ to film. It also happens to be claymation. Squealer, finding the life of our blessed Lord a bit slow, instead watched the theologically more subtle Madagascar.
All in all, a wonderful Easter weekend.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Wrestling Injury
Our girls are as different as the constituent parts of an Oreo cookie. Broadly speaking, Scooter possesses empathy in abundance and Skeeter is a little more independent. I’ve mentioned already Scooter’s new experiences this school year riding the bus. When she rides away (it stops right in front of our house) she likes to see us waving and giving her the “I love you” sign with our hands. Skeeter, on the other hand, never looks back once we drop her off at school. She hits the pavement and is focused on school and the rest of us disappear from her little world.
A few days before Christmas, I foolishly agreed to another wrestling night. Things were progressing along well when Skeeter executed a perfectly good axe-kick that caught my extended thumb and drove it straight down towards my wrist. I, like most homo sapiens, possess an opposable thumb--but not in that direction.
I immediately yelped in pain and jumped to my feet. Squealer, not fully understanding what was going on, (or maybe, less charitably, not caring what was going on) immediately began a second attack. I told Squealer that we had to wait a few minutes before Daddy’s hand felt like playing again. Scooter knew that I was hurt and immediately burst into tears because she could see the obvious pain on my face. Even though she had nothing to do with the injury, she could tell that her Daddy was hurt and it caused her to cry.
But as soon as I said “Let’s take a few minutes so that Daddy’s hand will feel better” Squealer, who had actually injured me, shouted “Woo-Hoo! Water break!!” and ran into the kitchen to get a drink.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Morning Debates
I’ve learned more about debate and carefully honed arguments at home than I ever did in debate or logic classes. This morning provides an example.
Since I am out of school at the moment, Kadie is picking up some day shifts so that she can be home a couple of evenings this week. In typical morning habit, after Scooter’s daily encounter with the monster, I took Skeeter up to her school. (We live .9 miles from the school and you must live at least 1 mile to ride the bus.)
Squealer, roused from his bed at the last second, is blinking stupidly from the back seat when the following discussion takes place.
Skeeter: “Squealer, are you tall or little?”
I don’t point out to her that, strictly speaking, these categories are not binary opposites.
Squealer continues to sit and blink.
Skeeter: (Louder this time) “Squealer, are you tall or little?”
Squealer slowly looks at her. After a second he says “I’m little.”
“No, you’re tall.” Skeeter replies.
Squealer, now roused from his somnambulance, begins to shout “I’M NOT TALL. I’M LITTLE!”
Skeeter waits quietly and thinks for a minute. Then she says:
Skeeter: “You're taller than a stump.”
Squealer sits in stunned silence, evidently trying to figure out what a stump is.
Skeeter “And you’re taller than concrete, and taller than a person who has tripped.”
Squealer responds to this barrage of logic by leaning back in his seat and sitting motionlessly. Skeeter stares at him waiting for his next argumentative rejoinder. When no verbal riposte comes, she sits back in her seat with a smile.
Mercifully we arrive at her school and she gets out of the minivan and skips triumphantly to class.
Since I am out of school at the moment, Kadie is picking up some day shifts so that she can be home a couple of evenings this week. In typical morning habit, after Scooter’s daily encounter with the monster, I took Skeeter up to her school. (We live .9 miles from the school and you must live at least 1 mile to ride the bus.)
Squealer, roused from his bed at the last second, is blinking stupidly from the back seat when the following discussion takes place.
Skeeter: “Squealer, are you tall or little?”
I don’t point out to her that, strictly speaking, these categories are not binary opposites.
Squealer continues to sit and blink.
Skeeter: (Louder this time) “Squealer, are you tall or little?”
Squealer slowly looks at her. After a second he says “I’m little.”
“No, you’re tall.” Skeeter replies.
Squealer, now roused from his somnambulance, begins to shout “I’M NOT TALL. I’M LITTLE!”
Skeeter waits quietly and thinks for a minute. Then she says:
Skeeter: “You're taller than a stump.”
Squealer sits in stunned silence, evidently trying to figure out what a stump is.
Skeeter “And you’re taller than concrete, and taller than a person who has tripped.”
Squealer responds to this barrage of logic by leaning back in his seat and sitting motionlessly. Skeeter stares at him waiting for his next argumentative rejoinder. When no verbal riposte comes, she sits back in her seat with a smile.
Mercifully we arrive at her school and she gets out of the minivan and skips triumphantly to class.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
A Trip to Wal-Mart
Life changes when I go to the store in Kadie’s absence. When she pulls an evening shift, and there is shopping to be done, the children and I descend upon a local, unsuspecting retail outlet. Last night we went to Wal-Mart, in order to fetch some groceries. Scooter and Skeeter are at a delightful age where their requests are few and easily ignored.
Skeeter, on the other hand is pure recklessness. Before we entered the store, I asked him to state again the 2 rules for stores:
1) Don’t run away
and
2) Don’t touch stuff
After he repeats them, I have him state the consequences of his actions (like Moses in Deut 28). The consequence of a transgression of either law is:
3) Or else I will ride in the cart.
These two rules have been carefully crafted over the last several years, ever since Squealer was old enough to walk on his own. In my experience, these rules should provide a meaningful balance between freedom and responsibility (the twin poles that serve as boundaries for us all).
In order to reinforce these ideas, I have him carefully repeat each one, as a creed, before we enter the store.
I think that the banishment to the cart seat is an appropriate response. For Squealer, immobility is severe, as I’ve noted before. Squealer exists to move. And if he is not moving, he is not fulfilling his telos. In order to keep him manageable, we go through these commands ritualistically anytime we enter into a store. We’ve spent untold minutes over the last few years before entering into commercial locations.
And it never works.
As soon as we enter the store, his restlessness grows. When the girls are with me, I often use them to keep him corralled. Since he also grabs for things on the aisle (whether he’s in the cart or not) I rarely take him down into the grocery aisle itself. Instead, I will stop the cart near the beginning of the aisle, tell the girls to watch him, and then I’ll head down through the busy aisle while they remain on the outside. In that way, I follow the paths of my ancestors who would often establish a basecamp and then engage on foraging forays into the wilderness in search of food.
Normally, this arrangement works adequately. They will keep him busy (by doing things like swinging him as they hold a pair of his feet and hands, or playing “I Spy” etc.).
But yesterday was not a normal day.
As I was picking up a few bottles of Caffeine Free Diet Coke (“After the caffeine and sugar go, what’s left?” Kadie always asks), I heard Scooter yelling. “Dad! Squealer won’t come back.” I made my way through the press of people and encountered a scene I would never have imagined.
He was amongst the cheese. (again, he clearly has a lactose addiction).
Between the wall of the Wal-Mart and the food aisles, are large, refrigerated, display bins. In these bins are located a wide assortment of cold, sliced, packages of cheese. Squealer had climbed into one of these bins and was walking on large packages of Kraft sliced American cheese. He also had a substantial grin on his face.
As I maneuvered around him, circling him like prey, he took up the challenge and proceeded to mirror my movements so that I could not get near him. Finally, using the girls like sheep-dogs, I was able to manipulate him until he was within my grasp.
I grabbed him and caught him by the hood of his sweatshirt. As I grabbed him and brought him up to eye level I said “SQUEALER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!!!!!” He paused for just a second, and in his eyes I saw a blazing euphoria, unbefore seen in his 3 ½ year old life.
He shouted triumphantly “DADDY! I STAND ON CHEESE!!!!” as though he had just fulfilled one of his major life goals…as though he had conquered a lactose fortified Mount Everest...as though he could now pass from this earth into the sweet hereafter in perfect contentment.
There were too many people staring at us for me to beat him (and alas, I always leave Mr. Buster at home). And technically, I had never before forbidden him from traipsing amongst the Munster. So I slowly gathered our things and headed for the checkout line.
And he rode in the cart for the rest of the evening.
But somehow, with his slight grin and the song of triumph on his lips, I could tell that he thought it was worth it.
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