It happened just like that. All of a sudden I am now Dad to my 7-year-old.
After spending a weekend day with some neighborhood kids, he woke up the next day asking me this or that with this new and shortened version. It may have just been me, but I think he added some baritone to his voice as well.
After the first few times of Dad, he noticed me smiling and he eventually asked, “is it okay that I call you that now?”
Of course, I said it was fine, but it has such a strange sound to it. This is particularly so when it’s followed by comments that remind me of his age.
“Dad, will you tie my shoes?”
“Hey Dad, where did you say my glasses were again?”
“See, that’s why I need goalie gloves, Dad.”
On Easter Sunday, after being called Mom and Dad throughout most of the day, it was interesting to hear him mix it up a little bit. I can’t help but believe it was intentional.
“Daddy, can I skip a shower tonight? It’s Sunday.”
Or, “Hey Mommy, Mommy, can we break back into that Easter basket again? I’ve been really good all day,” he said.
Not sure what he meant by good in that case, but I do know it did not have anything to do with refraining from candy or other sweets throughout the day.
I admit I prefer the longer version of “Daddy” and will miss it if it is in fact done with, but I knew this day would come at some point. I just figured it would be a little later in life.
It’s not the first and it won’t be the last time I’m not ready for something to change with my kids. I have come to accept that.
Living amid various levels of disarray seems to just be a fact of life around my house.
Neither Pam nor I are willing to simply accept the fact clutter is the new norm, but our kids are doing little to help us in this regard and they don’t seem to be bothered at all by it.
Consequently, it’s looking like the heavy hand will have to soon come down on them if they don’t start giving two cents about their belongings and where they leave them.
For the better part of the last half of the winter, Beckett was short an Ugg boot. We were able to find one under his bed in his room but the other was missing for about two months. It didn’t bother him too much. He just wore the one Ugg and a flip flop on the other foot. He actually went to karate one night in February like this because I didn’t have the fight in me to make him change his shoes. I knew full well he would have simply shed the boot and put on the other flop.
During a recent spring cleaning, the other shoe was found behind a couch and I immediately visualized how it got there. He came into the house and kicked his boots off with one apparently getting an impressive amount of distance and height to land behind the couch and get nestled against the wall. How the other got under his bed is a mystery to me.
I decided early on I was not going to overly fret about this expensive boot if he refused to take the initiative to really do a thorough search.
This is just one example of how the kids simply don’t care about their stuff and are short sighted about everything.
Another would be at bath or shower time each night. Oftentimes I will holler downstairs and tell them to come up to get cleaned up for the night. Almost always they both show up within a few minutes naked and immediately start rough housing and grabbing each other.
While playing referee, I asked Carson about his clothes. He usually points to Beckett and signs that he is crazy, as in his big brother made him do it. I knew better than to believe that.
It’s no secret where all the clothes ended up They are spread out evenly throughout the house, confirming they are taking off their clothes and literally throwing them across the room.
In yet another example, despite my constant reminders, we walk into the house every single day after school and the kids drop their book bags and jackets on the floor or on a piece of nearby furniture. One day this week, as I stood over the debris they left behind, the kids raced to the backdoor to head into the backyard. That’s our typical routine. I waited a few minutes because I knew they would return looking for me eventually.
When they did, I was still standing over their stuff. I didn’t have to say a word. They both cleaned up their stuff without any fuss. They apparently forgot they weren’t allowed to just run into the house with a reckless disregard for anything and everything.
As they turned to go back outside, they both tripped over the soccer balls they had brought inside. As I thought how karma was a wonderful thing, I turned around to see Beckett saying, “heads up Dad, here comes my center?”
It got me in the face. “Outside, now,” was all I had to say about that.