Having a sick kid is never fun, and we have had our fair share of illnesses sweeping through the house over the last month.
Twice within the last couple months, Beckett has been knocked down with a stomach bug of some sort. In both cases, the symptoms included all the unpleasant things related to an upset stomach.
Dealing with sick children is definitely a weakness of mine. That’s particularly the case if the illness lasts more than a couple days. I have a difficult time masking my impatience and my frustration starts to show.
With that in mind, Pam usually takes the lead on dealing with the sick child while I keep the other one entertained. Since that’s the case, I offered to sleep in Beckett’s room on the night he was his most ill in case a vomiting bout occurred.
Twice during the night, he woke up and did the deed and I was glad I was there to help with the cleanup operation.
By the time morning came around, it was as if I was never there. He woke me up by sitting on me and questioning why I was sleeping on the floor. When I told him why and that it was a good thing because he had gotten sick, he cut me off and little germ spreader wanted to wrestle.
That’s the thing with kids. Illness comes and goes in a fast and furious manner. I’m thankful for that and only wish it was the same for adults.
Both boys love coming to our newspaper office.
When I was their age, I did as well and previous employees — several of whom now have their own businesses — can recall me running around the office stapling papers together on their desk and swiveling in their chairs. That plays out whenever my kids are in the office as well.
One day this week Beckett came to the office after school to do his homework. While I was running to get Carson from his school, Pam was on Beckett duty, which largely involved making sure his homework got done rather than letting him walk around the office chatting with co-workers.
Everything seemed to go well and I didn’t notice at first any signs he was even in the building the next morning. Later, when I walked into my back office, I found evidence he had been in there. My desk chair was upside down with a framed baby photo of him from my desk resting atop it.
I took that as a, “Beckett was here” message,
On another office visit, during a recent rainy day, I brought some soccer balls to the office so the boys could run the long hall. Everything was fine, or as much as it can be with rambunctious 7- and 6-year-old boys.
When I went to buckle Carson’s seatbelt, I noticed something was clearly on his mind. I asked him to wait a minute because I was a little rattled from playing defense against the boys and lifting both multiple times so they could copy their faces and other body parts on the copier.
It turns out Carson had something in his pocket. When I looked back in the rearview mirror, I saw him with a desk phone by his ear humming. He apparently pulled the cord from one of the desk phones and stuck the receiver in his pocket, as he has probably seen his parents do hundreds of time with our cell phones.
He thought that was hilarious, and I did as well. Of course, the next time he’s in the office I know what he, and his big brother will be looking to do immediately.
I’m taking the blame for how Beckett’s basketball practice went this week.
Because I was rushing, I grabbed Beckett’s soccer shoes early in the morning this week while scrambling out the door to get the kids to school on time.
When practice rolled around later at Northside Park, I didn’t think much of the fact he would be wearing his Samba shoes for basketball when they are actually for soccer. He was quick to remind me why we were there, but I told him it was too late and he would have to make due.
In hindsight, I should have known it would be a regrettable mistake, as rarely did he use his hands in practice. Instead he was trapping chest passes with his body and feet and trying to kick the ball in the hoop. He seemed to be better with his feet actually and that didn’t help matters.
During a break, I reminded him he was playing basketball. He quickly countered that he played soccer in the same building as well and then I found myself reminding him of the differences between the two balls and the rules.
He then winked at me and made me think he got it. All was good for a few minutes until he started trying to punt the ball in the hoop again.
Later, after basically his first real introduction to the sport, he defended himself by saying he just preferred soccer “at my young age.”
Either way we will see how next week goes with the correct shoes.