Siri in Love

Troy: “Since mama’s Siri is a boy and dada’s Siri is a girl, I think you’re both in love with your Siris.”
Me: “Well, maybe our Siris are in love with each other.”
Troy: “No, I think you’re in love with your own Siris.”
My Wife: “You’re too funny.”
Troy: “I’ve been thinking that the whole time. I’ve just been waiting to tell you.”
My Wife: “Really?”
Troy: “Yeah.”

PTSD

The most traumatic experience from my time in kindergarten was the day I peed in my pants. Even forty years later, the memory of that day still haunts me. I remember what I was wearing. I remember what happened. And I remember how I felt. It took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t done anything wrong. But the incident still left me with PTSD.

My witch of a teacher wouldn’t let me use the restroom inside our classroom, despite my repeated pleading that I had to go. And when my thimble bladder could no longer hold it, I had no choice but to let it go…all over myself and the floor. I suppose I could have just gone in the bathroom and taken my lumps afterwards, that’s what I would have done nowadays with years of experience, rebelliousness, and flippant indifference behind me. But back then, I was a diehard rule follower, so I stayed where I was told and peed in my chair. And as I sat there drenched in the acrid smell of urine, feeling embarrassed and guilty, my teacher decided that the best course of action was to get mad at me for letting it get to that point. As if I had sat in silence and hadn’t told her that I needed to go…repeatedly. Because although I might have been a rule follower, I was also a talker. (I would later have issues with my teachers because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, but that’s a whole other story.) But her angry reaction wasn’t much of a stretch, because anger was her usual demeanor. She was a poor choice for a kindergarten teacher.

SIDE NOTE: Funny enough, she transferred to be the third grade teacher after that year, and I ended up having to have that angry witch all over again a few years later. She wasn’t much better as a third grade teacher either. In fact, in eighth grade, I had her husband, who also taught at the school, and he was pretty mean as well. I had a separate run-in with him in second grade too, since he was the music teacher back then. There was something downright joyless in that family. Although, if I had to be married to his witch of a wife, maybe I would have been joyless too!

Anyway, my mother was called to come and get me, since back then, nobody thought to have a second set of clothes on hand for such accidents. As I sat there under the judgmental and mocking eyes of my fellow classmates, I was increasingly terrified of my mother’s impending wrath. I was fully convinced that I had committed some egregious sin…mostly because that’s what my kindergarten teacher had just gotten done bashing me over the head with. And being a surprisingly good kid back then, I didn’t do well with failure or letting my parents down.

It turns out that I was right to fear my mother’s impending wrath, or it would be more accurate to say that my teacher should have feared it. If she smugly thought she had an ally in my mother, that was quickly dispelled. My mother let her have it…right in front of every one of those wide-eyed shocked little faces…none more shocked than myself. I had never seen my mother go off on someone in my defense before, and it was a sight to behold. I mean, I had been the recipient of that tempest before, but I’d never seen it unleashed on someone else…for me. And she didn’t stop there. When my mother got done reducing my teacher to a stuttering lump, she stormed into the principal’s office and laid into him too. The wreaking dark pee stain spread all over the red outfit I was wearing serving as the centerpiece of her gesticulations.

But through it all, I wasn’t relieved or happy. I feared what awaited me. I mean, if she had this reaction with these pillars of authority, then how much worse would it be for the cause of all of this mess. She had to leave work early to come and get me. She had to drive all the way home smelling my soiled clothing in the car. She had to waste the rest of the day looking after me. I had messed up her day. And she WAS livid all the way home. But to her credit, none of it was ever directed at me. She was mad at the system that had failed her baby boy and allowed him to ever feel such embarrassment. And although I was too scared to really appreciate it then, I’m proud of my mother now.

You’re probably wondering why I shared this incredibly long and personal story with you about myself on a blog about my son. Well, today, my wife got a call from the school that Troy had waited too long to tell the teacher that he needed to go to the bathroom, and he’d peed all over himself. As I successively got a call from my wife, flashbacks of my own incident In kindergarten came back to me. My heart immediately went out to Troy. I could only imagine the fear and embarrassment that he must be feeling, and I wanted desperately to take it away. So, I packed up a plastic bag with new, fresh clothes and a pack of wet wipes, and I hopped in the car to go get him.

I laughed at the irony of our lives traveling down similar arcs, albeit forty years apart. But where our stories diverged was that I knew that his teacher was sweet and kind. And I knew his school was doing everything to reassure him and take care of him. I found my little boy in the nurse’s office, curled up in a chair, fear and embarrassment etched across his face. When he saw me walk through the door, panic filled his blue eyes. But all of that soon dissolved as I walked across the room, took him in my arms, and kissed him on the head. He clung to me, and I rubbed his back, telling him that it was all okay. Then, I asked him if he wanted to change his wet clothes, and he nodded.

We walked into the nurse’s bathroom and got him cleaned up, using the plastic bag to hold his soiled clothes. I wasn’t angry at him, and I didn’t make him feel guilty. In fact, we didn’t even talk about the elephant in the room. We were just two dudes changing clothes in a bathroom…no big deal. Honestly, I wasn’t even going to bring up the peeing incident. He’d been through enough, and he didn’t need to keep reliving it. But Troy brought it up himself on the car ride home, so I reassured him again that it was just an accident, and it happened to everyone. Then, I told him my story of how it had happened to me in kindergarten as well. He was genuinely surprised, and I think that was the moment when he finally gave himself some grace. Picturing your father peeing himself has a calming and comical effect on you. And if he can be alright, then so can you.

Maybe God let me go through that experience so long ago, so I would be better equipped to handle this incident today. Because I had been in his shoes and I knew firsthand what he was going through, I knew exactly how I wanted to react to him, so all he felt was love, and support, and reassurance, and relief. I may not always do fathering right, but I think I had a win today. And as much as it pains me to say it, I’m thankful to God for letting me go through that traumatic experience so long ago, so I could be there for my son today.

Hugging Balance Beams

Troy: “I’m not going back out there until the coaches come over here and apologize!”
Me: “Why would they do that?”
Troy: “For building a course that hurt me!”
Me: “They built it to challenge you, not hurt you. It was an accident. They’re not going to apologize.”
Troy: “Well, they should!”
Me: “Honestly, I think you need to apologize to the balance beam. You fell on top of it. Did you even check to see if it was hurt?”
Troy: “No! I’m not doing that!”
Me: “I think you need to go over and apologize to the balance beam, see if it was okay, and give it a hug. Then, you two can make up and be friends again.”
Troy: “I’m not doing that! That’s ridiculous!”

Osmosis Zombies

Troy: “Mama, I made up a riddle. Do you want to hear it?”
My Wife: “Yes!”
Troy: “How do zombies walk through walls?”
My Wife: “Oooh, that’s a tough one. I don’t know. How?”
Troy: “They use the door!”
My Wife [laughing]: “Oh, of course!”

First Day of Kindergarten

Today was Troy's first day in kindergarten at Liberty Christian...or half day, I should say. They're easing the kids (and probably the teachers too) back into school this week by doing a couple of half days before going full time next week. We already botched things up with the new routine. First, it was a struggle to get Troy up 30 minutes earlier. He was not liking that at all. He was a limp noodle in my arms all the way downstairs, and then he just laid on the couch in a useless pile. Then, we struggled to get through our own  individual task lists. It dawned on me too late that I wanted to take a picture of him on his first day, so we had to rush it as they were hurrying out the door. So, it's a nicely backdropped picture of Troy frowning in front of the laundry room door.

Troy was less than thrilled with me taking his picture. Partly because he was tired, but mostly because he was less than thrilled with his new uniform. He didn't like the buttons and collar on the shirt or the fact that my wife bought it a size too large to accommodate any mid-year growth. He didn't like the fact that he had to unhook and hook the shorts to get them off and on while going to the bathroom. And he absolutely HATED the fact that he had to tuck his shirt into his shorts. To be perfectly honest, I can understand this one. I'm not a big fan of the shirt tuck either.

Despite all of this, my wife somehow managed to get Troy to school on time, and he wasn't too clingy with the drop-off. She said he seemed distracted by all of the chaos and hustle and bustle around the school. He also struck up a conversation with the little boy next to him at his table, so that helped. The real issue occurred with the pick-up. 

First, I wasn't clear on what time they were getting out. I mean "half day" could mean a lot of different things. So, I showed up a half an hour late. Although, this was my own fault, because they had sent an email with the exact times of dismissal, which I didn't read. In my defense, it was buried in my inbox with the literally 32 other emails that I received from Liberty in the past month. They are great at communicating, but frankly it's overwhelming, esp. to a guy that rarely ever logs on to check his email. Needless to say, I THOUGHT I was on time or even a little early, but sadly I wasn't.

I pulled around the corner into the driveway of the school and was stopped in a line 10 feet from the traffic light. What I didn't realize at the time was that it was all cars going to the upper school. I sat there for around seven minutes before I saw another car bypass the entire line and drive past on its way to the lower school. So, I pulled over into the turn lane and headed past the relatively stagnant line too. When I got to the pick-up circle, there wasn't a single car in line. There was a few parents doing walk-ups, but no cars. I wasn't entirely sure where I was going or if I was even in the right place, so I pulled over and talked to the principal, who was standing on the sidewalk jovially greeting the parents. He directed me where to go (ten feet from where I had parked), and it turned out that I was just late.

The pick-up was pretty smooth, which could have mostly been because I was the only one there and the teacher doing the exchange didn't have to stress about a line of cars to service. She read the number and name off the tag in my front window, acquired a child that looked strangely familiar to me (albeit a little older looking with a few more lines around his eyes, like he'd seen some things), and deposited him into the backseat of my car. As we drove out of the school, the conversation with Troy went something like this:

Me: "Hey man, I'm sorry you had to wait. I didn't know where I was going or what time to pick you up."

Troy: "You were late, but that's okay. There were a lot of other kids whose parents were late too. We were all waiting together."

Me: "I'm so sorry, bud. Were you waiting a long time?"

Troy: Yes, but it's okay, dada."

Me: "Well, I appreciate your grace, bud. How are you?"

Troy: "Good."

Me: "How was your first day?"

Troy: "Good."

Me: "Did you meet anyone new?"

Troy: "Yes."

Me [biting back my frustration]: "And?"

Troy: "They are good."

Me: "What were their names?"

Troy: "I can't remember."

Me: "Did you eat any of your lunch today?"

Troy: "No."

Me: "Why not?"

Troy: "Because they wouldn't let us."

Me: "They wouldn't let you eat at all?"

Troy: "No."

Me: "Hmmm, I guess that's because it's a half day. So, do you want a piece of cheese or some nuts."

Troy: "Yes."

Me: "Which one?"

Troy: "Both."

Me [handing him the bag of snacks]: "Okay...so, what did you do today?"

Troy: "I can't remember."

Me: "But it was good?"

Troy: "Yep."

...a minute later, my wife called...

My Wife: "How's the baby?!"

Me: "He's fine...eating on a stick of cheese at the moment."

My Wife: "Well, that's good."

Me: "No, I mean he's literally 'fine,' as in that's pretty much all I could get out of him about his day. The answer to every question was 'fine.' I'm getting one-word answers to everything."

My Wife [laughing]: "Well, that's okay. He's probably tired."

Troy: "I'm 'good,' not 'fine'! You're wrong, dada. I didn't say I was 'fine.' I said I was 'good.'"

Me: "You're right, my apologies. Okay, I just got more words out of him chewing me out for using the wrong word than I got from any of his responses!"

My Wife [laughing]: "If he's chewing you out, then I guess he's fine then."

Me: "No, he's 'good,' not 'fine.'"

My Wife [laughing]: "Right. Got it."

Shadow Hugs

Troy and I were up early today, taking a walk. As the sun came over the trees behind us, it turned us into long, thin dark shadows on the concrete. Without touching Troy, I wrapped my arms around myself, and it looked like my shadow was hugging his. I told him that I was giving him a shadow hug, and he started to run from me. I stretched my arms out and gave chase, my shadow’s long arms reaching for his retreating shadow, trying to hug him while he giggled and ran away. Every time our shadows would intersect, mine would wrap its arms around his and squeeze. He claims he couldn’t feel it, but I know he could.

Becoming Big Daddy

Troy walked into the room where I was folding laundry. The moment our eyes met, I farted loudly.

Troy [disgusted]: “Dada, how come you fart every time I’m around?”
Me: “I don’t know. I guess I’m becoming Big Daddy.”

Ghost Pirates

Me: “Why is that stick thing playing music?”
Troy: “That’s what it does. It plays a pirate song.”
Me: “But it’s playing on its own. Nobody is touching it. It’s like a ghost is playing with it. Why is it doing that?”
Troy: “I don’t know. Go check it out.”
Me: “I don’t want to go over there. It’s dark over there. You go.”
Troy: “I don’t want to go over there either. Besides, I’m busy.”
Me [crawling across the floor]: “Fine, but I’m staying low in case a ghost flies by.”
Troy [running across the room after me]: “Dada, I need to touch it! I want to push the button!”
Me [snatching it away just before he can grab it]: “No, you don’t! You don’t need to touch it! Don’t push the button. It’s being quiet now, just leave it alone.”
Troy [lunging for it]: “No! I need to push it!”
Me: “No, you don’t! Control yourself! You’re acting like a mad man!”

…several minutes go by of Troy and I wrestling over the pirate stick…

Troy: “Hmmm, I have an idea.”
Me: “No, you don’t! Stop having ideas!”
Troy: “I’ll never stop having ideas! Give me that stick!”
Me: “Never! I’ll never let you push the button!”
Troy: “But I need to push it!”
Me: “No, you don’t!”
Troy: “Wait. I have another idea.”
Me: “No, you don’t! I told you to stop having ideas!”
Troy: “I will never stop having ideas! Never!”

Weekend Stop-Over

My father and stepmother came by this weekend on their way home from Tennessee. They had gone to the Grand Ole Opry for my father's birthday and diverted their way home to roll through Dallas. Of course, I got wiped out at the end of last week with the same HFM virus that took down Troy, so I was barely functioning most days. But they weren't really here to visit me as much as Troy, so it was okay. Besides, Troy was really eating up the attention from them.

As a gift, they brought him this giant dinosaur egg, where each of the pieces of the dinosaur are encased in a different unpleasant substance, like sand, or slime, or playdough. Troy loved it! It entertained my wife, stepmother, and father for half an hour too, so I guess it was holistic entertainment. When the dinosaur was finally cleaned off and assembled, Troy immediately told my father and stepmother that it was a hybrid...of course.

They had been asking my wife about her new lab, so we also managed a jaunt up to UNT, so she could show them around. The whole space was really neatly designed, but Troy didn't care much about that. He just enjoyed running around the halls, opening doors, and exploring. All in all, a good, but short trip.

The Bowl Holders

Troy: “Dada, what are those things?”
Me: “Bowl holders.”
My Wife: “Don’t listen to him. They’re called pot holders!”
Me: “Only if I’m holding a pot. I’m holding a bowl, so they’re bowl holders!”
Troy: “That is a pot!”
Me: “Do you see any handles on it? Then, it’s not a pot. Pots have handles. This is a bowl. Thus, bowl holders!”
Troy: “Just because it’s not a pot doesn’t mean they stop being pot holders.”
My Wife [laughing]: “Ah, ha! He’s definitely your son! I just heard your wit when he said that! He’s a smart aleck just like you!”
Me: “Phffft!”

Hand, Foot, & Mouth Disease

When I picked Troy up from the playcare this afternoon, I noticed some red spots all around his mouth that absolutely weren’t there when I had dropped him off earlier. It looked exactly like Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease, so I looked up the symptoms. Kids usually get a low-grade fever (99-100 degrees)…check…then they get cranky and irritable…check…then they get the sniffles and are constantly complaining that their nose is running…check…and they have a loss of appetite…check. Finally, around day 4, the little red sores show up. I’m going to take him to the doctor tomorrow to confirm, but I’m pretty certain that’s what he has.

Based on the timing of the rash, I’d surmise that he contracted the virus during his end-of-year party on Sunday. Which would make sense, since it’s highly contagious, and he was around and touching and playing in the water with a lot of different kids.

UPDATE: The doctor couldn't definitively say that it was HFMD, but she didn't rule it out either. Troy definitely has some sort of contagious virus. Oh, and she said that we'll probably get sick too, but that it will probably manifest itself as a cold, which is just fantastic considering that Troy has been kissing and licking on my face for the last three days!

UPDATE-UPDATE: I did in fact get sick. I started feeling bad Friday night, and I was sick all weekend with a cold just as the doctor said. So far, my wife has avoided going down with us.

NTPA - Bluey

This week Troy is at a camp at the North Texas Performing Arts. The theme of the camp is the popular TV show Bluey. Today was my wife’s first day at her new job, so she was unable to take Troy to the camp. Which meant I was next person up. I wasn’t feeling great today anyway, and I had called in sick to work, so it worked out okay.

It takes an hour to drive across town to the school and an hour to drive back. The camp is only three hours, so it seemed pointless to try to come home in between. I did a search and found out there was a Barnes & Noble nearby, but it didn’t open until 10:00 am. Irritated, I found out there was also a Half Price Books nearby, but it also didn’t open until 10:00 am. Dejected, I realized the Galleria mall was just across the freeway from me, but quickly learned that it ALSO didn’t open until 10:00 am! So, I found myself stuck in my car with absolutely nothing to do. I updated my blog, went and got a snack, and checked in at work. I looked at the clock, and it was only 9:08 am! I still had two hours and fifty-two minutes to wait!

I was going to text my wife and let her know that I was bored, but I didn’t want her to think I was a weanie…or worse, suggest I go to Starbucks. So, I watched the bread guy, and the beer guy, and various other vendors come to restock the restaurant in front of me. I took a two-minute power nap (not refreshing at all). I listened to the birds. I tried to enjoy the hot breeze. And I called my mom and my friend. And somehow I survived and made it until noon.

And I get to do it all again tomorrow!

Smelly Armpits

My Wife: “I’m getting you some crackers for a snack.”

Troy: “But I’m smelling something different.”

Me: “Maybe it’s your armpits. Do you have smelly armpits?”

Troy: “Yes, I do, but that’s not what I’m smelling. I’m smelling toasted bread.”

Me [laughing]: “Your armpits smell like toasted bread?!”

Troy: “No! I’m smelling toasted bread from over there! My armpits smell like boy!”