adventures in parenting and child-ing
Oct. 17th, 2006 11:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chelidonhighlights of day:
School nurse calls, my beamish boy has conjunctivitis (pinkeye). Ack. I pick him up and bring him home, where he will stay and get antibiotic eyedrops until he is no longer infectious. I feel somewhat blessed that this is the first and only time he's had this so far. Tomorrow's schedule is shot, though, but the two of us will get a nice unexpected day of hanging out together. Still to be resolved is his assertion, upon my questioning how he might have gotten this, that he sometimes touches his eyeball to gross out/impress his peers. Typical 7-year-old boy stuff, but how to impress upon him that ranking one's buds in gross-out games isn't worth what could be a serious eye infection. Le sigh.
After I bring him home, and he's sitting watching his (1 hour max) of movie time today, I hear activity that sets off the dad radar, and find him in his room, half-way changed into his pajamas, "because it's cold down there" (which is true, I haven't fired up the boiler today yet, but...) When I ask him if he had an accident (the kid can get awfully engrossed in what he's doing at times), he hems and haws and, uncharacteristically, lies. Half an hour of time out in his room, no dessert after dinner, a wee stern lecture about truth-telling, and a promise made not to do it again, and it's all good. Le sigh.
After my Ravishing Partner gets home, my boy tells her that someone at school told him today that the Tooth Fairy isn't real (of particular importance at the moment because he has two loose teeth), and he asks her point-blank if she puts the money under his pillow. She blinks, says, "well, yes...sometimes." Whereupon he bursts into tears, crying, "but I *want* fairies to be real!" Which leads into much comforting and a minor theological discussion (yes, some fairies are real, but the Tooth Fairy is more of an idea...), seeming to sort of satisfy for now. Milestones. Le sigh. And the clock's tickin' on Mr. Claus, I can tell ya...
Oh, and somewhere in the middle here, my mom calls and tells me that she quit her job, found out she needs double hip replacement surgery immediately, and possibly knee work as well, seems to be developing cateracts and has a serious-looking basal cell carcinoma. Le sigh.
I think it's a sign of how the last year has been that my reaction to the day has been, "oh, well, okay. Nothing broken that can't be fixed." Funny how perspective works.
So while my Lovely Partner has her Night Out, with our coven sister watching Sondheim's "Sunday In The Park With George," I will curl up with my Lovely Housemates and nurse a fermented beverage, or perhaps an Irish coffee, and watch Kung Fu Hustle, which I have somehow managed to avoid seeing up 'till now.
Life is good. It's all about perspective.
School nurse calls, my beamish boy has conjunctivitis (pinkeye). Ack. I pick him up and bring him home, where he will stay and get antibiotic eyedrops until he is no longer infectious. I feel somewhat blessed that this is the first and only time he's had this so far. Tomorrow's schedule is shot, though, but the two of us will get a nice unexpected day of hanging out together. Still to be resolved is his assertion, upon my questioning how he might have gotten this, that he sometimes touches his eyeball to gross out/impress his peers. Typical 7-year-old boy stuff, but how to impress upon him that ranking one's buds in gross-out games isn't worth what could be a serious eye infection. Le sigh.
After I bring him home, and he's sitting watching his (1 hour max) of movie time today, I hear activity that sets off the dad radar, and find him in his room, half-way changed into his pajamas, "because it's cold down there" (which is true, I haven't fired up the boiler today yet, but...) When I ask him if he had an accident (the kid can get awfully engrossed in what he's doing at times), he hems and haws and, uncharacteristically, lies. Half an hour of time out in his room, no dessert after dinner, a wee stern lecture about truth-telling, and a promise made not to do it again, and it's all good. Le sigh.
After my Ravishing Partner gets home, my boy tells her that someone at school told him today that the Tooth Fairy isn't real (of particular importance at the moment because he has two loose teeth), and he asks her point-blank if she puts the money under his pillow. She blinks, says, "well, yes...sometimes." Whereupon he bursts into tears, crying, "but I *want* fairies to be real!" Which leads into much comforting and a minor theological discussion (yes, some fairies are real, but the Tooth Fairy is more of an idea...), seeming to sort of satisfy for now. Milestones. Le sigh. And the clock's tickin' on Mr. Claus, I can tell ya...
Oh, and somewhere in the middle here, my mom calls and tells me that she quit her job, found out she needs double hip replacement surgery immediately, and possibly knee work as well, seems to be developing cateracts and has a serious-looking basal cell carcinoma. Le sigh.
I think it's a sign of how the last year has been that my reaction to the day has been, "oh, well, okay. Nothing broken that can't be fixed." Funny how perspective works.
So while my Lovely Partner has her Night Out, with our coven sister watching Sondheim's "Sunday In The Park With George," I will curl up with my Lovely Housemates and nurse a fermented beverage, or perhaps an Irish coffee, and watch Kung Fu Hustle, which I have somehow managed to avoid seeing up 'till now.
Life is good. It's all about perspective.
