Adventures Of Fatherhood

Adventures Of Fatherhood
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Lots of my kids’ antics can simply be summed up with the cliché “boys will be boys.”

That’s my simple conclusion often when I can’t figure out exactly what they are doing or why in the world they would think this or that is a good idea.

Some examples of late:

Rather than simply entering and exiting the vehicle, like normal human beings, my boys, 7 and 5 now, must make it difficult by adding a trick or challenge to the seemingly menial task.

When I dismiss their requests to put the windows down so they can climb in from the outside, they will usually jump in the front seats and climb back in a race or will climb in the back and make their way through the beach gear (denial on my part at its finest) to their seats with a wanton disregard for whatever lies in the way. Meanwhile, I’m picking up their book bags strewn about on the driveway from their reckless pursuits.

On Monday morning, Beckett had to add a wrinkle to it, involving going in backwards with his rear end not allowed to touch the seat the entire time. At one point, his foot slipped and kicked Carson right in the face, giving his little brother — who was doing the same thing but chest first — a new war wound to start off the school week.

Nope I wasn’t sad to drop them off at school that morning.

After scoring a goal in soccer, Beckett likes to celebrate like it’s the World Cup winner. By his excitement and cartwheels, it’s like each goal he scores is his first one ever.

When he asked me what I thought of his cartwheels after he scored last weekend, I had to give him his due because they were impressive and the goals were nice, too, but reminded him it might be a good idea in the future to actually act like you have scored before.

That seemed to register at first, but he spent this week trying to master a front hand spring celebration.

The last dip of the year in our pool was a frigid one with both kids quickly agreeing with me it was time to close her up for the year.

When my sons think it’s too cold, that’s when I know it’s time. I have been feeling this way for a couple weeks now, but have been pushing through for them because they were still into it.

When we were sufficiently frozen last weekend, I told the boys let’s do one last jump in the pool for the year. Carson seemed reluctant, which I understood because it was painfully cold, and sat down on the deck.

I quickly found out his reluctance had nothing to do with the water temperature. Instead, he was sitting down so he could take his bathing suit off and encouraged his big brother and me to join the fun.

Beckett liked the skinny dip idea, of course. He also liked it when Carson decided to wear his bathing suit on his head like a hat after taking it off. They both were pleading with me to join them on the skinny dip session, but I compromised and put one of their other bathing suits on my head, and we all jumped in together.

We then all came out of the water screaming how cold it was together. That and the warm team shower together provided some quality bonding time.

Why simply place trash in the garbage can when you can ball it up and shoot it from across the room? That’s the boys’ methodology when asked to throw away their trash.

Or better yet, talk some trash to your dad, egging him into a competition, which I never turn down, and then next thing we know our misbehavior is cited by the lone lady of the house.

Sometimes a simple request to take your clothes upstairs or turn off your light in your room takes Beckett a lot longer than it should.

Typically, there are several thumps and crashes while he’s gone. When I ask what all the noise was about, he usually replies, “nothing.”

I decided the other morning to snoop and find out what he was doing. When I made it to his room, he was working on flying side kicks off his bed’s footboard. After asking him about it, he said in a matter of fact fashion something about giving me some alone time and how the extra height provides him a little bit more air time to perfect his moves.

“I like doing it off my bed because I can get height and kick the ceiling,” he said.

That does made sense.

After getting his latest belt in his karate career at Chesapeake Martial Arts, rather than simply shake Grand Master Kim’s extended hand after she put his new belt on, he slapped his hand in her’s in high-five fashion.

Fortunately, she knows how boys are — particularly this one — and laughed it off.

Prior to our kids being born, we had a kitchen table complete with four matching chairs. We are down to one that’s unscathed.

Two have been completed destroyed and one’s future is questionable after Carson the other night decided to ride one of the legs like he was riding a wild bull.

Our next chairs will have to be made of steel.