Showing posts with label Lightning McQueen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lightning McQueen. Show all posts

Sunday, April 19, 2015

The Time My Preschooler Fell in Love

On a recent school-free weekday not long ago, Mrs. Dude took our boys to a nearby park to burn some of their seemingly endless supply of fuel. As I was working in my pleasant 72-degree office, thinking about chasing them around the vast mecca of molded plastic chutes and ladders slowly baking under the 85-degree California sun, I can’t say I was completely disappointed to miss that scorching outing. But a key lesson I’ve learned about parenting, and life in general, is that we often never know what we are missing out on by not doing something. As it turned out, I missed something seemingly big that day. How big? was the real question.

I can see out to the driveway from my home office’s shaded window and usually jump up excitedly, in a way that would make Pavlov proud, when I see Mrs. Dude and the boys return each afternoon. On this day, however, my 5-year-old made a beeline inside before I could even stand up. When the Little Dude bounded into the house he was beyond excited to tell me that he’d had an unplanned rendezvous at the park that day.

Dada, guess who I saw at the park today?

Elmo?

No, guess again…

Buzz Lightyear?

No! I saw Ethan, Braden and Jack from my school!

Oh, that’s awesome.

And guess who else?!

Lightning McQueen?

Come on, Dada. He’s in Radiator Springs. No, I saw Julie from my class.

(I was happy that he mentioned someone I actually knew, as the boys he’d mentioned first are in other classes and strangers to me.)

How exciting! What’d you all do?

We played on the swings and rode bikes and ran for a super long time! And guess what else?!

Ummm, you went down the slides?

Wrong! Slides are for babies. Guess what: Julie is my girlfriend now.

::The sound of a record player screeching to a halt engulfs my mind::

This was not at all what I was expecting from my almost 5 ½ year old’s day out. Thoughts of an imminent wedding rushed into my head before I realized that was highly improbable because neither the bride nor groom would be able to sign the marriage license because they don’t know how to write their names yet.  
Look before you leap
As he smiled his widest grin I’d seen in a while, I thought about how I hadn’t expected to hear about girlfriends for at least another half-dozen years. I know people say that kids are growing up faster these days due to technology and other societal changes, but explaining the birds and bees was not on my immediate radar, nor should it be.

I’m a planner. I’m not into surprises and have the kind of (cursed) mind which races through every possible outcome of a situation before it even begins to unfold. Whether my suppositions are right or wrong is another matter, I just don’t want to be left unprepared with an agape mouth.
So flying without my well-broken-in net, I asked my son what he thought having a girlfriend meant. I anticipated an answer somewhere along the lines of love or kissing or, at the bare minimum, hand-holding. Plus, whatever the reply, I had to be ready with a quip or an anecdote or something brilliant to suppress my suddenly queasy gut about these uncharted waters we were about to dive into.

My son looked at me, still beaming, and I watched his expression shift as he looked for an explanation that he could easily express. No words came out of his mouth for what felt like an eternity before he finally said something that shouldn’t have seemed as unexpected as it did.

I don’t know.

::Exhale::

And just like that I knew my little boy was back, as my nerves began to slowly unwind and return to their normal operating functions.

Him:  Can I go play now?

Me:  Of course. Go have fun.


And thankfully he never mentioned it again. 

*********************************************************

 
If you like the pictures in this post, and why wouldn't you, come follow me on Instagram where I post some of my favorites daily: instagram.com/dudeofthehouse



Monday, August 20, 2012

The Crib Fairy

The Crib Fairy stopped by my house last week and left a trail of uncertainty behind on her way out.

At the suggestion of the Little Dude’s pediatrician, Mrs. Dude and I decided to remove the crib from our 2 ½ year old’s room and move him into a “Big Boy Bed” in advance of his brother’s arrival. The doctor said that we should remove the crib and put it somewhere out of sight so that when our new arrival starts using it in a few months, there won’t be jealousy or resentment from the previous tenant.  

The crib
Tinkering with the sleep habits of any kid is not easy. Tinkering with the sleep habits of a Rip van Winkle prodigy like my Little Dude had the potential for great disaster written all over it. But we had to do it with the longview in mind.  Bringing a new baby into the house is going to be an adjustment for all of us. As parents, I trust that we’ll handle the transition better than our happy toddler who is used to being the center of attention. Or at least I hope so.

My wife started prepping him weeks in advance with news of the Crib Fairy’s impending arrival.  As the story went, the Crib Fairy was going to come and remove the Little Dude’s crib, leaving a Big Boy Bed behind for him to sleep in. On top of that coup, CF was also going to leave a present. Seemed like a Michael Scott-style win/win/win for everyone involved.

As part of the preparation Mrs. Dude took the Little Dude to Target and let him pick out some new bedding. As a Cars aficionado, he settled on a nice Lightning McQueen set after his first choice --pink -- was thankfully vetoed.  

On transition day, the new bed was brought in and Mrs. Dude was tasked with disassembling the crib. Why was literal and figurative heavy lifting imposed on my 7 months pregnant wife? Because she put it together originally and knew how it all fit. I had a more difficult task that night anyway: occupying an antsy 2 ½ year old who was unaware of what was happening behind the scenes. I figured the best thing to do would be to make him more tired so that he might sleep better in his new environment. So after dinner we went on a walk around our neighborhood while my wife went to work. I didn’t think the disassembling would take very long, so when I texted her after 45 minutes and found out she wasn’t even close to finished I knew it was going to be a long night for us. Hopefully not for multiple reasons.  

We headed back to the homestead and I left the Little Dude with his favorite babysitter: Elmo and a sippy cup of milk, while I headed upstairs to check out the situation. Crib pieces were everywhere, making his bedroom resemble a war-torn minefield.  I stealthily started bringing crib pieces downstairs, not wanting my cover as half of the Crib Fairy to be blown.
The Big Boy Bed, just before the grand unveiling.
Finally it was time for the grand unveiling.  As our sleepy Little Dude headed upstairs, we told him that he was in for a big surprise. He ran into his room and saw a giant void where his crib had always been. Then he realized that the Crib Fairy had stopped by and he asked where his present was. On top of the Big Boy Bed was a Great Dane-size image of Lightning McQueen on the new comforter and on top of that was a gift bag.
He ripped into the gift bag as only a toddler can, finding a slew of Hot Wheels cars inside. He started pulling them out one by one and eagerly examining each exotic new vehicle. He was clearly not thinking about the imminent transition. Could it really be that easy?  

Checking out the new presents.
We proceeded with his usual bedtime routine of bath, tooth brushing and story time until the moment of truth was upon us. We dimmed the lights as he wiggled under his shiny new covers, slowly exploring the much more expansive sleep space than he was used to. As he clutched his Hot Wheels tight we tucked him in, turned out the lights and let out a collective deep breath of relief.  Just before he said “I wanna sleep in Mama & Dada’s bed”.

Damn Crib Fairy.
A moment before he realized this was for real. 


Thursday, December 1, 2011

Poo on You

When I went in to BC’s room this morning to get him out of his crib, he was playing with the toys in his bed and having a good time. Suddenly he looked up at me, then pointed down to his central diaper region and made a proud declaration: “POO!”

Since we haven’t officially begun potty training him, I took it as a good sign. According to research, kids are usually ready to begin the potty training process sometime between 24-36 months. Since BC just turned 2 it’s probably time for us to start preparing for the fun.  I think the first step is I’m supposed to save my newspapers and line the floor of the house with them, right?  Obviously I’m kidding.  Who gets the newspaper anymore?

We got BC one of those little plastic training toilets a few months ago after a friend suggested it and put it in the bathroom next to my Big Boy potty.  This placement was supposed to subliminally teach the Little Dude what the potty is intended for. Unfortunately the main thing he seems to think it’s used for is a place to lounge while unspooling rolls of toilet paper.  

Our son’s pediatrician said my wife and I should leave the door open to let BC watch us go to the bathroom so he can see what all the hype is about. It seems strange that I’m supposed to talk the bathroom up to him as though it’s a great place, like Disneyland or something.  Then I lead him into a place with a grimy commode, a wet floor and some weird green stuff lingering on the sink.  Seems more like Magic Mountain to me.

When we are in a public place I usually take BC with me to the bathroom because I don’t feel comfortable leaving him with the weird old man who greets people at the store entrance. What inevitably ends up happening is I try to keep my balance and complete my mission while he simultaneously watches me and plays a game of chicken with his finger and the nearby urinal cake.

Before a recent trip, my wife went to buy some overnight diapers.  Apparently the store had run out of our usual brand so she got some pull-up style overnight diapers.  Since we were leaving the next day, we had no other option.  At least they had Lightning McQueen on them. Whatever that is.

The pull-ups worked out fine, especially since BC now refuses to lie down while being changed. I guess when your body is longer than your changing table, you can elect that option.  These days he generally wiggles and dances while being changed and I end up pulling the flaps on his diaper shut, hoping I got full coverage on both essential regions and praying for no whammies. 


So back to this morning, I was happy that he was able to convey his crucial message and hoped he hadn’t slept in it for too long, causing a mess and making him resemble Augustus Gloop after he’d fallen in the chocolate river. 


I was still half asleep when I opened his diaper to find that it was wet, but that was the only damage done.  So I looked at him and inquired about his apparently false claim. He looked back at me and reiterated forcefully “Pooh! Pooh!”  So I figured he was just being the boy who cried wolf and so I told him that the next time he said “Poo!” and didn’t possess any, I’d make him sit in it for a while as a lesson.

Then as I got him dressed and looked down at his used diaper waiting to be thrown out, it suddenly hit me. No, not the smell.  The image of Winnie the Pooh lounging next to his pal Tigger on BC’s used Huggie. Not pictured: me with egg on my face.





Thanks for reading The Dude of the House! Tell your friends... 

--JJ aka The Dude of the House




Yup, I'm linking up again with a collection of great bloggers at Yeah Write #45 Come check us out: