Rhyming title. Nice, huh? Oh, it's just the beginning. My youngest son and I rhyme everything. While trying to get him confident while walking with crutches instead of his walker, I would sing something lame like:
He's a Superstar. And he's going to go far. In a really fast car.
I told you it was lame. But it did the job. It took his mind off his fear of falling long enough to walk across the room with his little blue forearm crutches. He was afraid of using his walker at first as well. Now he zooms around with it like it's a Porsche.
The first few times we tried to get him to use the crutches, we counted the number of steps he took. When he got up past 100, I gave that up. Because I suck at math. When you are really horrible at math, confronting any numbers isn't pleasant. Even if you're just dealing with a 5-year-old who can probably count higher than you can.
Yes, I graduated from high school. Barely. What I did after high school probably taught me a hell of a lot more. Okay, there's no "probably" about it. Having kids taught me 50% of what I know. About 95% of that was useful knowledge. Some things you learn from having kids has no merit whatsoever.
I still cannot put together a Lego set that has instructions. Honestly, I just don't have the patience for it. What asshole decided that it would be a good idea to give kids a project that includes eighty-seven separate steps? I imagine it was somebody who had no children and had no concept of the pain that a lone Lego can inflict on the instep of a tired, grumpy Mom who was under the assumption that all the Lego sets had stayed over at Grandma's house BECAUSE GRANDMA IS THE ONE WHO BUYS THEM. I'm sorry, but if your relative buys an annoying, complicated toy for your child, it is their moral responsibility to retain custody of said item until little Billy goes off to state college.
I married into the Cleaver family. Not literally. But I would be pretty famous if my husband's nickname was Beaver. Okay, well I might not be famous. But people would wonder about me. Shut up. I know people already wonder about me. So anyway, as far as family values and dedication to children, my own parents are at the complete opposite end of the scale from my in-laws. My mother-in-law is a fabulous Mom, Grandma, etc. She sends cards to everybody in the family for every single holiday. She always asks how everyone is and never tries to rush you off the phone. She will drop everything if her kids or grandkids need her for something.
My father-in-law is fantastic as well. He gets down on the floor and plays with our 5-year-old for hours. It takes him a little while to get up, but he definitely puts in the effort and seems to honestly enjoy spending time with his family. Even if everybody wants to do something that doesn't interest him. He goes along because he puts family above his own needs.
Below, you will see the other end of the glorious scale of parenthood.
Once every other week or so, my phone rings at about eight o'clock at night. We have Caller ID. It is my Dad, the used car dealer, calling on his cell.
"Hello?" It is hard not to roll my eyes. If it's 8:00 our time, then it's 9:00 their time. There's a reason we live in different times zones. Anyway, if it's 9:00 there in Indiana, that means Dad has probably already downed about three cocktails. Canadian Club and Diet Rite Cola. In a tall glass.
"How are yooouuuu?"
"I'm okay."
"How're your boys?"
"They're good."
"Good, good. Want to talk to your Mamma?"
So my Mom gets on the phone and she's had more to drink than he has. She asks how I am and manages to sound interested in my answers. If there is a problem, she usually finishes the conversation pretty quickly by saying something like, "Well, I wish I could just wave a magic wand and make everything okay. Keep your chin up. Smile." She is actually better than she used to be. Unlike my dad, she usually asks to talk to C.J. (my youngest) who never fails to make her laugh. One or both of them usually mentions trying to get together with us, so that's something.
One very positive trait that my father passed down to me was the ability to be silly and make kids laugh. Adults aren't always receptive to hearing the word "poop" five times in a row. I have to remind myself of this when I converse with adults. Which is very rarely.
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