I’ve just spent five days as Mr. Mom. It was exhausting, frustrating, and absolutely fantastic. I have way too much to do to properly recount the past week. Two quick anecdotes, though, just to remind myself of them later.
One night, we went to dinner with my friend G-Rob. Somehow the subject of komodo dragons came up. G-Rob, ever the instigator, set to work on convincing the boy that there was a komodo dragon named Dave living in our garage under the lawn mower.
“Stop telling me a whopper,” my son protested. G-Rob did not relent. As we left the restaurant, G-Rob taught my son to high-step to avoid getting his foot eaten.
As we climbed in the car to drive away, my son looked up and said, “Mr. G-Rob was joking me, right, Daddy?” I assured the boy that Mr. G-Rob was, in fact, joking him.
Still, as we walked in through the garage, my son stayed as far from the lawn mower as he could.
Another night, we were driving home from dinner with BadBlood and his son. It was pretty clear I wasn’t happy with the boy’s behavior. Unprompted, my son asked quietly from the back seat, “If I have a special song for you, will that make you happy?”
And then he sang “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” all the way through…twice. The second time, I actually started to get a little sappy. His voice was sweet, clear, and perfect.
“Are you happy now, Daddy?”
“Yes, I am buddy.”