So Says The Daddy Man

Last night was the last night a Boy went to bed as a four-year-old. Daddy said some things to him that, as a four-year-old he may not completely appreciate, so they are reprtinted here for posterity.

Daddy: Five years ago a little Boy was born and Daddy's life has been so much better. Daddy loves you so much it feels sometimes like his heart would burst.
Boy: Why?
Daddy Beacause Daddy's heart is so full of love for you. Daddy has been alive for 40 years and these last five years have been the best ones.

Using Your Headcover

My wife and I talked last night about giving the Boy one of his birthday presents early. I bought him a new driver for ages 5 - 9 and was at the counter paying for it, when my eye spotted an assortment of headcovers. I started chuckling to myself, thinking how cute it would look if there's this little five year old on the course, carrying his clubs, a big headcover on his driver. It was too irresistable and I bought it.

This afternoon, two days before his birthday, we're going out to play. The discussion last night was whether to open the present early, not knowing how many more chances we're going to have before the end of the year. This morning I pull out the present and watch a rapt and happy face as he delightedly pulls apart the wrapping paper. I thought belatedly about my video camera.

He's very pleased with his new golf club. And the dinosaur headcover as well.

Boy: Hey! It's just like Tiger has! Except he has a lion!

Well, You Know My Name Is Simon....

How many other Dads and Moms live vicariously through their children?

I dressed the Boy up in his fancy bathing suit. It's one of thoise UV protective suits and it looks very cool, much like a wetsuit. It's got a black body with sky blue sleeves. We're running down from the parking lot to the municipal pool and folks are smiling and grinning and getting other people to look over at him, he's so cool.

We get to the pool at 3pm and we won't leave until five. At the end of it, he was swimming great distances in the adult pool by himself with no life-jacket. In the adult pool, his feet can't touch the bottom, so this was a huge accomplishment for a Boy this afternoon. His Daddy was very proud. So was his swimming teacher from last year, Lindsey, who was the lifeguard on our side of the pool. I could wax on lyrically all evening about how great he was in the pool. Instead, let me tell you that at some point I noticed that my fingers had shrivelled from being in the water for so long and a Boy was fascinated to see them.

Me (in my best Mike-Myers-as-Simon imitation): I got all prune hands.

The Boy looks and marvels over them.

Boy: They're all wrinkled!
Me: You got all prune hands too.

He looks and is partly astounded to see that his fingers have shrivelled up too.

Boy: Maybe we should iron them.

Blue Suede Shoes (or something like that)

Someone ... and I'm not saying who...thought it would be pretty funny to put blueberries in my dress shoes.

Not the little less-than-pea-sized blueberries, either. The big, fat thumbnail-sized ones.

Wish Lists

If I could have a wish list, I'd wish for him to grow up happy, healthy and helpful to the human race. And somewhere after that, I'd wish for the Boy to sleep in just a little later in the morning. Especially on weekends.

So it's Sunday morning, and the Boy and I are sleeping on the fold-out couch at Granny and Poppa's house. It's early in the morning and I'm half-dozing, happy that he is still in bed and letting me get a little rest. It's not eight o'clock yet. It's around 7:30, somewhere in there. His cousins, one who is six and another who is four, are upstairs thumping and bumping and running around.

Suddenly a Boy is wide awake beside me, awake from the noise, the shoe on the other foot now and all that, and he is put out from having been woken up, commenting with a disgusted voice:

Boy: They sound like Santa Claus up there.

Exit 5A

This weekend we went up again to Poppa's house for the Boy's cousin's birthday party. It's a 90-minute drive that takes us from the city to the Annapolis Valley. About 20 minutes or so up the road is the Town of Windsor. It's an exciting part of the drive because there is a ancient railway yard that lies right next to the highway. About two-dozen old trains rest on the track. For a Boy, it's like Thomas the Tank Engine come to life. We call out the kinds of trains we see: Troublesome Trucks, Oil Cars, Caboose, Passenger Coaches, Diesels. It's only a few seconds of the drive and soon the trainyard is behind us.
Me: Wow, there were a lot of trains there today. Wasn't that great?
Boy: And there was one there that looked just like Mavis!
Me: Maybe it was Mavis.
Boy (in a wry, don't-be-silly voice): No, it wasn't really Mavis! It had no eyes...

The Weather Network & the Michael Family

It's apparently a genetic thing, a meteorological chromosome, passed along by the mother, this love of the Weather Network that runs through my wife's side of the family. Mom-in-law loves it, all her daughters love it - could sit for hours in front of it. It's compelling TV, somehow. And now come to find that the Boy is very keen on the Weather Network too and has learned numeral recognition from channel 30, numbers like 22, 18 and on rarer occasions this year 28. He's got all the icons down and can distinguish between sunny and partly cloudy and more significantly, between light rain and drizzle. Which makes this morning's conversation somewhat more interesting.

Last night the Blue Monkey's played their last regular season game and scored a season high 4 goals. The Boy also scored, giving him four on the season and treating Mamma who hadn't been there on any of the previous games where he'd scored. Daddy wasn't there - off golfing - so Mamma briefed me on all the news when I got home and advised me to be surprised when I heard it from the Boychild's mouth, because he was anxious to tell me himself. She let me know that while they'd scored four times, the Monkeys still lost 8-4. 

Mamma: But you should have seen the Blue Monkeys parents. It was like they'd won the Stanley Cup.

This morning the Boy advised me that the Monkey's had, in fact, tied the game 4-4, but couldn't quite look me in the eye, a harmless bit of revisionism after all. There's one more game to go, but there's two days when it might be played. Tuesday if it's not raining and Thursday if it rains on Tuesday. The scenario required significant explanation. Finally having grasped what was going on, the Boy headed straight for the Weather Network to "check the forecast" (in quotes because it's a specific, favourite expression of his). The local and long range forecast was just coming on.

 Boy: Just in time!

He proceeded to read of the forecast for the morning, afternoon, evening, four-day out look and seven day forecast. He concluded that we were going to be all right for Tuesday because as the forecast showed for the week:

Boy: We're only going to get five pieces of rain.

Yo Soccer Fan.

The story of the Boy's comment in the backseat ("I guess were not going to win the trophy...") made the rounds at the soccer pitch last night. Come to find there is no trophy and that every player will get a medal. The last game is next Tuesday (weather permitting) and there's a kids vs. parents match. I'm thinking maybe it might be the Blue Monkey's first and only victory of the season. 

Last night I was there in my Canada chair and the open air reading my book while the Monkeys practiced in vain. Final score: 7-0. The Boy wanted to help carry stuff from the car into the house when it was all over, and so I gave him my book. He asked me what the book was called.

Me: Catch-22.

Boy: Do you have Catch-21?

Me (smiling): No.

Boy: I think you should start with Catch-1.

Bravest Boy Ever

The Boy will be starting school in a few weeks and the thought of it is terrifying.

For me, not for him.

In advance of the Day, and as a requirement for the Daycare, he was off to the doctor's office today to get his immunizations. Two needles, one in each arm.

Dr. Judy: Do you want to sit on your Mommy's lap?

Boy: No.

So up he hops on the examination table.

Dr. Judy: Do you want your Mommy to hold your hand? Because you have to be very still while I give you your needle.

Boy: No. I'll be allright.

Two needles go in and not a single peep out of a Boy. The doctor was most impressed. In fact she commented:

Dr. Judy: Wow. You are the bravest boy that's ever been here for his needles.

Boy: What about my blood pressure?

Turn of Phrase

Summer, finally summer. It's not been a good one so far, but at last we get some hot days. After being out in the backyard playing by himself in the mid-afternoon the Boy comes back inside and starts to wipe his face with an old baby-blanket that appeared from somewhere.

Me: Is it hot outside?

Boy: No. The sun is sweating me.

Me: The sun is sweating you?

Boy (continuing to towel off with the woolen baby blanket): Yeah. Now I have to unsweat me.

Later on he comes in again after seemingly having made a grand decision.

Boy: Know what I'm going to have for supper?

Mamma: What?

Boy: I haven't decided yet.

Various Tycoons

Once upon a time, this was maybe a year or so ago, there was a promotion with a cereal company where they had different game CDs in their box that you got for free when you bought the cereal. There was Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune and Battleship as well as the Stuart Little 2 movie. We collected almost all of the CDs and the movie for the Boy. I can remember uttering the memorable line as I picked up a box of Lucky Charms with the Battleship game in it:

Me: I wonder if I can get this in a better cereal....

Anyway, the game we've played most together, the Boy and I, are the two Tycoon games; RollerCoaster Tycoon and Monopoly Tycoon (forever refered to in our house as "Monockoly", since that was the way the Boychild says it). They're both games geared not for the 4 year old set, so I do most of the "driving". And that's okay, because I have fun playing both of them. The Boy, when asked which is his favourite invariably replies:

Boy: I like RollerCoaster Tycoon better because people barf.

What Makes Blue Monkeys Blue.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are soccer days for all of this summer of Aught-Four. It always seems to be a rush to get home, get the Boy, get the Boy's supper, get the Boy kitted out and ultimately to get us to the pitch on time. Yesterday I caved in to his request to get supper from the pizza man, and so while I was paying for our supper at the door, I had asked the Boy to get his jersey, shorts, boots, socks and shin pads so we could get away faster and not be late. He got his jersey and his socks, but he couldn't find his shorts. I figured that they were downstairs in the dryer and asked him to go and get them.

He flat refused.

So the power struggle was on.

Me: If you don't go and get your shorts, we're not going to soccer tonight.

Boy: Well, if we don't go to soccer, I'm not going to try to score any goals.

I had to reflect a moment on that. Although an interesting fault of logic, it was too cumbersome to explain for a parent in a hurry.

You should know that the Boy's team is called the Blue Monkeys. Their jersey colour is a deep blue with white trim, "Tim Hortons" on the front, the Boy has number 11 on the back. When suggestions for team names were called for at their inaugural practice, his idea was the Blue Sharks (because sharks are fast!). Most of the other kids thought it was a great name, but the coach's son issued his minority report and the name Blue Monkeys was subsequently adopted. At that first practice (which was really a "fiesta" - an all-day event of drills, pictures, lunch  and crafts) the Boychild was the first player on either side to score, an auspicious beginning auguring a great season.

Well, the Monkeys lost that game 5-2, and it's been one of the closer scores of the season which has so far featured scores of 9-0, 8-0, 11-2 and a host of other consistently lopsided affairs. The Boy has scored two more goals, grand achievements when a good game is one where the Monkeys aren't shut out. At last night's game as the Boy sat his turn on the sidelines, the Blue Monkeys had a breakaway. In fact, it was a breakaway on an empty net. In fact, it was a five-on-zero breakaway to an empty net.

They didn't score.

The ball was dribbled almost the entire way down the field with only five blue shirts around it, no goalie, no defense and the ball was put into touch, slowly, wide by at least five yards. It was almost the perfect encapsulation of the Blue Monkey's season. The final score was 5-1 ... since the other coach was holding his team back.

On the way home, a small little world-weary voice was heard from the back seat:

Boy (quietly): I don't think we're going to win the trophy this year.

Let Children Walk with Nature

The neighbour's cat, Sandy, had to be put down last week. As gently as she could, my wife had to break the news to a Boy.

Mamma: Sweetheart, Sandy died.

Boy: Good. She wasn't a very nice cat anyway.

Carpe Diem

Giving the Boy a bath and talking to him about the day....
Me: What was your favourite part of the day?
Boy: Everything.

Carpe Diem (alternate ending)

Me: What was your favourite part of today?
Boy: My toots. (giggling and considering) Yeah. My toots.

In case you didn't get it, a "toot" is a fart.

"What's a Cubit?"

Last night I did my fatherly duty and abandoned my wife and Boy to go out and play golf at the club where I'm a member, The Links At Montague. It was Thursday night Men's Night. The very first time I'd played, months ago now, the field was depleted by the threat of inclement weather. Actually, I remember that it rained right up until the time I pulled up into the parking lot. Good timing for me and those brave golfing souls of my ilk, bad luck for everyone else.

No one was more surprised than I when the eventual winner of the evening was.... ME! It was like Phil Mickelson after the Masters when I got home. Daddy won! Can you believe it?!?!

Last night there was a full field and great weather and I shot a stroke better than my previous personal best (which had been the score from that first Men's Night). My 3-over last night was good enough for a tie for second.

This evening, Boy looks up at me at the supper table and enquires straight out of the blue:

Boy: How was "Men's Night", Daddy?
Me (surprised): Great! Daddy played his best ever and got second place.
Boy (after a long pause): Is Men's Night ... golf?
Me: Yes, sweetheart, it is.
Boy: Oh. (He giggles sheepishly.) I didn't know that.

Mercedeses Rule.

From the recesses of my recent memory:

We were driving down the local highway which, as usual, was choked with traffic in both directions. As we crawled along, up toward us came a very nice Mercedes convertible, kind of a light olive green in colour. It looked very rich. The Boy took note of it as it crept by us in the other direction.

Boy: That's the car I'm going to have.

Me: Well, that's a pretty expensive car. You're going to have to get a pretty good job to be able to afford a car like that. Are you going to be a professional golfer?

Boy: No, I don't want to be a professional golfer.

Me: Well, what about a professional soccer player?

Boy: No, I want to be an artist. Or I'm going to be a teacher.

I thought, "There goes the Mercedes...." 

Getchyer Feline Freak On.

A horrendous, horrible and terrible hissing and screeching erupted from the front screen door. It was enough to make your heart jump right up into your throat. It was the fluffier of our two marmalade cats, Zoe. The neighbour's cat, Tigger, had wandered saucily up our pathway to taunt our younger girls. His little round feline face gazed boldly through the screen. I stomped toward the door and Tigger turned tail.

Me: Tigger! Go home! Git!

The boy came around from the living and slammed the storm door closed with authority as Tigger dashed back down the path.

Boy: Yes! Go home Tigger! And stop freakin' out!

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

I keep thinking I should save the title for this very brief entry for some other more significant post, but on reflection, it's pretty much the theme to this whole blog. It's purpose is to capture stuff before it goes away for ever. Like this kind of thing.

Mamma: Are you having a good time in PPI, love?
Boy: Mom, it's not P.P.I., it's P. E.I.

And thus passeth the glory of the world.