Water works

Charlie has discovered the joys of splashing ... and the joys of not obeying his mother.

First day of school

Will went to 4K for the first time today. I was all geared up to cry, had my camera out and everything.

Will had other ideas. He made a bee-line for his classroom, placed his backpack and on his hook and then pretended he didn't know the crazy lady chasing him with a camera (me).

Here are a couple shots I managed to get ... you'll notice his back is generally pointed away from me.

Also take note of his backpack which he declared "awesome." His is the Star Wars one, not the High School Musical "I Love Troy" backpack.

Negotiating for Babies

My friend Karen taught me this trick when Will says he's too full for dinner, but has plenty of room for dessert.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"I'm four."

"OK then, four more bites."

I thought it was brilliant and have been using it for a good year now. Will has recently upped his defenses, however.

"Four more bites," I say.

"How about two?" he answers back.

"Nope, four."

"How about three?"

And so it goes until one of us starts to weep. (Yes, it's usually me.)

Tonight, Will wanted to take some of his Hot Wheel cars into the bathtub. He's got roughly three trillion, so I told him he could take just three into the tub.

"How about four?"

"Three or none, Will," I said, trying to get tough and end the negotiations early.

"What about two? Or one?"

"Huh?" that threw me for a loop.

"I could take none, or one, or two, or three."

Damn my "three-or-none" ultimatum.

I decided to make lemonade. "That's true. Good counting."

"Three is the most I can take in the tub," he said. "That's my ob-so-va-shon."

I'm pretty sure that last word was "observation." But that would be scary if he knows that word.

That's my observation.

The guy who drives a blue minivan

Tonight we were sitting at the Wheelhouse, a popular Waupaca restaurant, when a man walked in and sat down at the table next to us. He looked over at me and Will and said "Excuse me, do you have a blue minivan?"

"Yes, I do."

"The side door of your van is open."

"What kind of van was it?"

"A Caravan."

"Oh, that's not ours, we have a Honda."

"Oh, sorry about that."

OK, so not the most exciting conversation. The point of this boring story is that I look like a guy who drives a blue minivan. You can pick me out of a lineup! Not the guy who drives a Hummer or a Prius, the guy who drives a blue minivan.

He even got the color right! It's clear now that other people, judging me upon first glance, see a middle-aged man who likes the roomy comfort and relatively good gas mileage of a minivan, and chooses blue instead of red or black because those colors might be too flashy. It's so practical!

I suppose there are worse things people could assume of me upon first sight, like the guy who forwards bad jokes to his co-workers and friends, or the guy who tucks in his shirt but doesn't wear a belt, or the guy who doesn't shower after basketball.

But for someone who still, perhaps erroneously, considers himself young, the guy who drives a blue minivan is a label I'm not ready to embrace yet.

Two brief ones from Will

Basement musings from Will on Monday evening:

"Daddy, when are you ever going to be right?"

Response: I think it was rhetorical, but for his sake let's hope I'm right when he starts asking homework questions, or when the returns for his 529 college savings fund come full in 2022.

(While working on a Hot Wheels ramp that was clearly not working his way but actually worked with my intervention.) "Daddy, you took what I made and made it not cool."

Response: Won't be the last time, son!

Diversity Day

Living where we do, in lily-white Scandinavia, we worry sometimes that our children might not be exposed to as much diversity as members of 21st century America should be exposed to. Our surroundings can lead to instances like one we experienced at a park in Stevens Point on Monday, one in which Will quickly learned and moved on.

"Look, a black man," Will said, pointing to a well-built African-American fellow at the beach where we were swimming.

"Will, don't point," I said. "Yes, he's black, but he's just like us, even if his skin is a different color."

Will paused. "No he's not, Daddy."

"Yes, he is, Will."

"No he's not — his muscles are lots bigger than yours!"

Will strikes again ...

Will can't believe it

Sunday afternoon, as we were hanging out in the air conditioning on a hot late summer day, Will was having a fun time playing with Charlie. All of a sudden he looks up and says "I can't believe how much I love Charlie and Mommy! I can believe how much I love Daddy ..."

He then went on to elaborate and clarify how he loved Mommy and Charlie more than Daddy.

Ouch.

Interestingly, after his nap he was all about Daddy, telling Jana how we were going to make a fire, offering to help me with the dishes, shooing Jana and Charlie out of the house for a walk, then giving me a big hug while we were looking at the stars.

It was like he knew he had hurt me a little and was trying to make up for it. Last week he said something similar near bedtime, then spent the morning trying to be like Daddy, packing my lunch and one just like mine for himself.

Recovering quickly from saying something wrong without directly addressing it -- he's training to be a husband already!

Will quieros Taco Bell

Forgive the Spanglish adaptation of the popular Taco Bell slogan, I know it's not proper Spanish but think it sounds funny. But the other day we grabbed dinner at Taco Bell and Will ate two tacos — a new record for the lad.

Afterward in the bathtub, Will says to me "Daddy, next time we go to Taco Bell I'm going to eat five tacos."

"Five tacos, no way! I couldn't even eat five tacos!"

"Yeah you could Daddy. You could eat six tacos because your belly's so big!"

And once again, Will speaks the unvarnished truth, and I'm left plotting a gut-reduction strategy.

Will weighs in on the election

While taking his bath Wednesday night, I heard Will sputtering "Buh-ROCK O-BOMO, Buh-ROCK O-BOMO." Just to make sure I was hearing him right, I turned off the water and asked what he was saying.

"Barack Obama," he said.

"Where did you hear those words?"

"On TV this morning."

"Do you know what they mean?"

"He's going to be the next president, that's what they said on TV."

So apparently he is retaining what's on CNN while he's scarfing down waffles in between Wow Wow Wubbzy and Lazytown. Encouraging.

Then Will took a turn handicapping the race. I happened to be reading Newsweek at the time, and showed Will the picture of Obama with his running mate on the cover.

"This man's name is Joe Biden."

"What's that guy's name?"

"Joe Biden."

"That guy's going to be the next president, after that guy."

And somewhere Will's godfather started dry heaving again ...

Big brother is watching

At our daycare, the "big kids" are downstairs most of the day and the "babies" are upstairs. So, Will only gets to see Charlie at lunch time and his teachers let him go upstairs if he ever wants to see "his baby."

Protective Will sometimes gives me reports like, "Charlie was sleeping REALLY well when I went upstairs at lunch."

This morning, one of the ladies that takes care of Charlie told me a sweet story about Will.

Apparently, as she was holding Charlie in the rocking chair, Will approached from the side and whispered in Charlie's ear, "I'm right downstairs if you need anything."

Someone told me when I was pregnant with Charlie that a younger sibling was the best gift I could ever give Will. I'm starting to think that Will is going to be the best gift I ever gave Charlie too.

I'll have to remember that the next time I'm saying, "Please stop squeezing the baby's head."