Spring

I was talking to Henry in the car the other day about how eventually we want to put in a greenhouse in the back yard. I am a crazy paranoid dad and apparently being a parent has turned me into some sort of hippie. I don't really care what I am putting into my body because what the hell, but with my kids, I try to get more "natural" stuff. I am aware that my 19 year old self would laugh at my 29 year old self for saying that, but whatever. I'd like my kids not pumped full of all kinds of who knows what. Maybe it's silly or dumb or something, but they are my kids and I would rather they not die any sooner than absolutely necessary.

Anyway, I was telling Henry about how we want to put in a greenhouse and grow some of our own vegetables and whatnot, when he got really upset, because "[he doesn't] want a greenhouse! What do we have to paint it green for?"

Lunch time

A drama, based on real events.

"Henry, what would you like for lunch?"
"I want egg salad."

Boil some eggs. Turn off the water to let them cook. 18 minutes pass. Crack them open. They are not fully cooked inside.

"Henry, the eggs didn't turn out right. Do you want me to just cook you an egg for lunch?"
"No, I want egg salad."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"

Boil new eggs. Turn off the water to let them cook. 20 minutes pass. Crack them open. They are fine. Make egg salad. Place egg salad in front of Henry.

Henry looks at it.

"I don't like egg salad."

French

A lot of people seem to have important things to say, important thoughts, important ideas. I don't. I don't really mind, though. I wake up in the morning and I take care of my kids and sometimes I go to school and then I spend a bit of time with my wife and then I go to bed, to do it again. I'm not really complaining though. Things are pretty great as they are. Do I wish I cared about "more important things"? Sure, I guess. But what is "more important", anyway? I sure as hell have no idea. My kids are important. My wife is important. What else should really matter to me?

I wish I was more intelligent, sure. I wish I could have a conversation with someone about politics or whatever, but you know, I can't. And I don't really care. It used to bother me, I used to be afraid people would think I was dumb. Well, it turns out I may just be dumb. Oh well, c'est la vie, or whatever. I think that's French for "fuck it".

blue bear

For any parents out there that has a kid that had a stuffed animal that they loved a lot that ended up needing to be replaced: did they have a hard time adjusting to the new one? Henry has gotten hooked on this blue bear, and we preemptively bought a spare to put in the closet, but I'm wondering if we should once in a while switch the bears, so they both wear down at the same rate. I don't know if there would be a problem if his current bear got ragged, and then got lost, only to be replaced with a brand new one. Do kids even notice that kind of thing? This is the first time Henry has really gotten hooked on a certain toy. 

My other (probably silly) concern is switching the bears back and forth, I kind of feel like I'm, I dunno, tricking my kid or something. He would think that it was the same bear, and have memories attached to it, but it would actually be two different bears. So in 20 years or whatever, if he still has one of the bears, he will have memories attached to the bear that he has in 20 years, but not all the memories will be attached to that bear. Maybe that is silly, I dunno. I guess the only thing that matters is the memories Henry has, not so much the object itself. But at the same time, I'm 28 now, and I still miss my little stuffed bear sometimes, even though I haven't seen it in at least 10 years. Good ol' Judgar.

research

Sitting here on the couch. Ian is asleep on me. The wife has taken Henry off to bed. I'm trying to do genealogy research, starting from pretty much nowhere. I don't know why, but I feel like it's my duty to be able to provide some modicum of information about my family to my kids. Does the information even matter? Will it change anything for them? People I'm related to by blood but I've never met. Dead or dying. Not knowing my kids exist. Not knowing I exist.

I want to be a good father.

Outdoors

I was reading The Art of Manliness by Brett and Kate McKay and upon reading both the chapter about being a father, and the chapter on the great outdoors, I was reminded of how much I can't wait to take my son camping for the first time, just father and son. I think it's a real bonding experience that sadly many kids (and fathers for that matter) do not get to experience. Something about being out alone in the wilderness, showing your kid how to start a campfire, sleeping under the stars...it's something so pure. I find it difficult to get it into words. I look forward to the day that Henry and I can get out there and pitch a tent and just spend some time together, experiencing new things, away from it all. There is something to be said for just spending time out in nature, away from the television and the internet and everything else. Who doesn't want to get away for a weekend? And what better way to get away? I don't think I'll be able to take him this summer with the new baby and all, but I hope we can at least pitch a tent in the back yard and hang out around the fire pit.

 As a side note, people talk about apple pie, but to me the real quintessential American desert is the s'more. Parents and kids, sitting around the campfire that they built, roasting marshmallows, squeezing them between slabs of graham cracker and chocolate, just spending time together as a family--what could be better than that?

Potty training

Henry has been really interested in potty training the past few days, so we've been working on it. Now however when it's time to take his nap or go to sleep, he keeps acting like he has to pee, so we get him out of bed, he goes about two drops, and then back to bed, only to do the whole thing again later. He knows he doesn't really have to go, I know he doesn't really have to go, he just doesn't want to be in bed. But it's not like we can just tell him no, he can't go. That would undo all the rest of the time that we tell him to tell us when he has to go. Basically our son is a secret evil genius.