Archive for the ‘Zane’ Category
Manners Matter
“Thank you,” said the girl as she walked through the door that my 5-year-old son was holding open. She was midway through a line of children, and the first to acknowledge us.
“Did you see how that little girl thanked you?” I asked after the kids had passed.
“Kids should always use their manners,” he answered.
“Not just kids,” I added. “That goes for all of us.”
“Even when it’s another kid?” he asked.
“How did it make you feel when she thanked you?”
“Good.”
“Then I think you have your answer,” I said.
We walked down the hall, looking at this and that, up some stairs, and through a door that a child held open.
“Thank you,” my son said.
The child smiled.
“That kid was using manners, too.” I noted.
“By holding the door open?” he asked. “That’s what I do for people.”
“I know you do.”
A woman walked by with a handful of books. She dropped one about a foot from where we were standing. My son ran over, picked up the book and handed it to her. He asked if she needed help, and she replied that she didn’t. Then he went to the door and held it open.
“Thank you,” she said to him.
“Your son has very nice manners,” she said to me.
“Yes he does,” I answered as he ran up and took my hand. We started to walk away.
“Daddy,” he whispered (which is basically just a huskier version of his yell). He pulled me close, “You were supposed to say ‘thank you.’”
Touché, kid. Touché.
He held my hand as we walked together down the sidewalk. He paused often to point out random acts of kindness. I paused too, and I thanked him every single time.
Don’t Worry, You Aren’t Missing Anything
People often ask me what it is I like to do in my free time. To which I say, mind your own freaking business. If I wanted you to know about it I would put it on the blog. Or Twitter. Or Facebook. But probably not Google Plus.
But then it dawned on me that I do not have a moment of free time, hence my inability to answer. Sure, some might say that writing a blog post is “free time” and I get that, but I’m just taking a break from writing something for money. That’s a job, people. Some smoke on their breaks, I blog. Also, pornography.
Basically, I wanted to touch base with you, the reader(s), and let each and every single one one of you know that I truly appreciate your kindness in what was (and continues to be) a very tough time for us. But we’re making due and getting by, and the good (deity of your choice) willing, maybe we’ll win a few games.
I’ve been keeping busy. Limey Yank Productions is a full-time job without all the hassle of benefits or paychecks, and I’ve been posting random bits of parenting woes and whoas all over the designated play area of the Internet. I’m also trying something new: humor. It’s like funny.
My wife is enjoying her new job, the boys like their new school (the youngest started kindergarten last week!) and the dogs seem happy to be happy. I don’t know what the hell the cats are up to.
And in the meantime life is bits of love and leisure wrapped tightly between inboxes and deadlines. We spend our days working and our nights trying to catch up. The boys bounce barefoot from beach to branch, leaving a trail of sand-covered Magnolias in their wake. The days fly by us like we’re standing still, but we are moving fast in all directions.
The wind is a chorus of whispers and promise. Free time is but a kite in the distance.
____________
Thank you for reading.
And here are the links I couldn’t fit into the paragraphs above. You’re welcome:
Atticus and the Lion King 3D Premiere (video)
Public schools outlawing peanuts
Zane’s 5 Year Review
As I mentioned in the previous post, today is Zane’s 5th birthday (that link is to a slideshow that I made in 20 seconds and subsequently spent 3 hours trying to embed).
He is a sweet boy with just enough rotten. He’s funnier than a kid his age has any business being, and his dimples are going to get him in all kinds of trouble.
We couldn’t be prouder.
Happy birthday, Zane!
How to Cry on Valentine’s Day
A working vacation in San Francisco ended with me hobbled and limping for home. I enjoyed my visit, but pushed my tired, useless feet too far. The swelling pain in them left me unable to walk, clutching the walls of the airport terminal like they were lined with last breaths. I moved at a pace roughly half that of the old woman with the cane. I believe she savored the moment that I became a spot of dust in her rearview bifocals.
I bit my lip until it bled and watched as empty wheelchairs rolled by for patrons much more used to their need. I was sore with pride and stupidity.
I closed my eyes on the plane, knowing my heart waited somewhere forward. I am not one for leaving it behind.
Days later had me working from bed. My right foot as swollen as it could be without bursting like an overblown balloon. I am at the mercy of my family’s patience and kindness. It has put my exhausted wife further to her husband’s end.
Today was Valentine’s Day. We had no plans for romance. My wife was over it sometime between the kids and the constant rains. I was done when I realized that chocolate and flowers were not the same as foreplay. It is a day we enjoy better for the mocking.
My morning was spent sprawled across a mattress stuffing Disney trinkets into cartoon cards while my boys signed their names in an assembly line of chicken scratch. Their day was filled with candy and roses. Except that there was more candy where the flowers should be.
Tricia worked the night shift, and soon the afternoon was replaced by evening, and my wife was replaced by a hole in the room. The boys and I watched Finding Nemo, then sat on my bed and talked about cable cars and earthquakes. Zane shared thoughts on the protocol of Hallmark holidays. Atticus sang Black Bird in its entirety.
They were crawling from my bed to theirs when I said something about seeing my 4-year-old for the last time. That he’d be five come morning. It was supposed to build upon the excitement he’d been expressing for the better part of the last six months.
The only thing that built were the tears in his eyes.
“I don’t want to grow up,” he said. And with that he was tucked against me crying for all he was worth. His brother followed with equal tenderness and I found myself broken from heart to foot and covered in the tears of my children.
Explaining the meaning of bittersweet is just that.
Soft words soothed as only soft words can do, and tears gave way to warm cheeks pressed tightly upon the other. Plans were made for continued awe and so much wonder. Their pace grew slow and steady.
They fell asleep in my bed, wrapped in a hug of brotherly love. I sat at their side, beneath the glow of lights turned low, listening to a clock chime hours unknown, and watching my foot, willing it to explode.
Zane’s Trains & Deadlinemobiles
The train in the distance was a talking one. It was solving problems of its own creation. Contrary to popular belief I did not love the sound of it. Moral of the story? Even Paul Simon misses a trick now and again.
The sounds in my office included the tapping of fingers on keys, a cat meowing to be let in, and the hum of the dishwasher. My office is all about location.
The air was thick with coffee and maple syrup.
My wife was at work. The oldest son was at school. The 4-year-old, Zane, was halfway into many things at once, and he was bored with all of them. I looked at a list of deadlines that must be met and I set myself to meeting them.
Working at home is like living at work. I meet my children for talks around the water cooler. We play games when we shouldn’t. We steal each other’s lunches, and fill the microwave with so many bags of burned popcorn. We tend to cut out early.
Most days are just me and Zane. I work and he hovers around me. His words go in one ear and I write some others. Our time is defined by quantity over quality.
It is Friday, which makes it hard to get things done, like Monday but with promise. There is the hint of holiday in the air, we both feel it — two days without a single thing to do. It is what I hold on to.
It is how I justify a child sitting alone in another room while I type away like ten thousand monkeys. I told him there would be bananas.
The train in the distance rolled through the credits. Nothing changed but the channel.
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