“Daddy, I need a haircut.”
The words, coming from my 7-year old, stopped me dead. “You want a what?”
“I want a haircut.”
“Ok,” I said, nodding. Inside, I was happy. My little guy has fought getting a haircut for a number of months. My wife and I have often commented how long his hair is and that he should have it shorn. We tried numerous approaches.
“If you don’t cut your hair, you won’t be able to see. You’ll trip over something.”
“I can see fine. I just move it out of the way.”
During baseball season, he went into a slump. We seized the opportunity.
“You seem to be having trouble batting. Is your hair getting in your eyes?”
“I just shove it under my helmet. I can see fine.”
“That’s a lot of hair, though. Maybe your helmet’s too tight.”
Still, he blew our concerns off and wouldn’t be deterred. My wife, frustrated, demanded that he at least agree to cut his bangs. He pouted and sat still, long enough for my wife to give him a trim. Other than that, nothing.
Finally, we thought we had a solution.
“Tell you what. We’ll let you keep your hair long. You just need a bow.”
“Mom! Dad!” he fumed. “I don’t want a bow.”
“”It’ll be cute,” we countered. “You can borrow a bow from one of your classmates. Your cousin wears a lot of bows in her hair. Maybe she’ll give you one.”
Eventually, given enough teasing, he would storm off. My wife and I would laugh, convinced we were getting to him. However, he was not deterred. Finally, my wife and I agreed to let him keep his hair long as long it didn’t get in his eyes and cause him problems.
So, for this reason, his comment about cutting his hair caught me off guard.
“Really,” I asked. ‘What made you change your mind.”
“Some friends of mine said I look like a girl.”
Ah. Peer pressure. That would do it.
Still, even though he’s decided to get a trim, my wife and I realize that we have another challenge. He’s only seven. Is he already listening to his peers more than us? How do we deal with that?
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
This Weekend in Atlanta
When my wife and I visited New York a few years ago, we had a chance to see the Rockettes. The show was absolutely wonderful.
This weekend, today actually, The Rockettes open at Fox Theater. They'll be in town until December 6th. Click here for more information. (Picture originally published on the Fox Theater website.)
This weekend, today actually, The Rockettes open at Fox Theater. They'll be in town until December 6th. Click here for more information. (Picture originally published on the Fox Theater website.)
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Ode to Maurice Sendak
I took my boys to see “Where the Wild Things Are” recently. It’s been out awhile, I know, but we’ve been busy. We caught the Saturday morning show over at Discover Mills Mall, when tickets prices are only $6 apiece for shows before noon. My wife thought it was a wonderful way to save money on ticket prices and it would have been, had I not promised the boys popcorn and drinks.
The kids enjoyed the show, though my younger son thought it a bit scary at times. (Granted, that could have been the caffeine and sugar in the Coke that kept him agitated.) My older son loved it. Admittedly, so did I, but not for any reason that had to do with the movie.
When my older son was still a toddler, my wife and I noticed he had trouble speaking. He had babbled like any child does at the appropriate ages and then his language abilities fell to the ground like a meteorite. We took him to doctors, therapists, specialists, etc. And we grew more and more frustrated.
One of the things we did though was to continue to try and read to him. We read simple books, books with great pictures, books to help kids pick up reading. We tried acting these books out to bring his words out.
No book was more popular with my older son than “Where the Wild Things Are.” We read the book every night. We bought a cassette tape of Maurice Sendak stories and listened to it in the car on the way to day care. And, as we went through the book, we followed the crescendos and decrescendos all the way up to my son’s favorite part of the book, where the little boy character, Max, is made king of the place where the wild things are and gives his first decree.
“Let the wild rumpus start.”
Max and the wild things all danced around and played. My son and I would do the same thing, at least until it was time for the wild things to be sent to bed without their supper as had happened to Max earlier in the story.
From there, we would finish the book. We might read something else. Another one my son’s favorites was another Sendak book, “In the Night Kitchen.” And while my son enjoyed that story, his reaction was never close to what came out for the wild things.
And after our reading was done, my son and I would put the books away until the next night, when we got to open up them up and let the wild rumpus start all over again.
The kids enjoyed the show, though my younger son thought it a bit scary at times. (Granted, that could have been the caffeine and sugar in the Coke that kept him agitated.) My older son loved it. Admittedly, so did I, but not for any reason that had to do with the movie.
When my older son was still a toddler, my wife and I noticed he had trouble speaking. He had babbled like any child does at the appropriate ages and then his language abilities fell to the ground like a meteorite. We took him to doctors, therapists, specialists, etc. And we grew more and more frustrated.
One of the things we did though was to continue to try and read to him. We read simple books, books with great pictures, books to help kids pick up reading. We tried acting these books out to bring his words out.
No book was more popular with my older son than “Where the Wild Things Are.” We read the book every night. We bought a cassette tape of Maurice Sendak stories and listened to it in the car on the way to day care. And, as we went through the book, we followed the crescendos and decrescendos all the way up to my son’s favorite part of the book, where the little boy character, Max, is made king of the place where the wild things are and gives his first decree.
“Let the wild rumpus start.”
Max and the wild things all danced around and played. My son and I would do the same thing, at least until it was time for the wild things to be sent to bed without their supper as had happened to Max earlier in the story.
From there, we would finish the book. We might read something else. Another one my son’s favorites was another Sendak book, “In the Night Kitchen.” And while my son enjoyed that story, his reaction was never close to what came out for the wild things.
And after our reading was done, my son and I would put the books away until the next night, when we got to open up them up and let the wild rumpus start all over again.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
This Weekend In Atlanta
For those of you on the east side that have always wanted to see a hockey game, but don't relish driving downtown to Blueland, the Gwinnett Gladiators are at home this Friday and Saturday. Click here for more information.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
A Step Away from Independence
As much as I love both of my kids, I sometimes find myself wanting to spend time with just one or the other. It varies back-and-forth. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but it does seem to be a fact of life.
And so, when my older son went camping with his Boy Scout troop this past weekend, I found myself looking forward to some one-on-one time with my 7-year old. My wife made it easier, heading out for shopping with the girls on Saturday, leaving me to take my little second grader to his school’s fall festival. I’ve been to this festival every year since we’ve been in Georgia. It’s a good time for all. My son jumped on jumpies, came home with brownies from a cakewalk, and bought a poster at the book fair. (My wife is still getting on me about allowing this one. “He’s supposed to buy BOOKS, not POSTERS. I couldn’t help it. There were posters for sale and he really wanted one. He vacillated for several minutes between a poster for the Falcons and one for my alma mater, Auburn. He finally decided on the Auburn one. I’m sure that’s why my wife thinks I let him buy it.)
One incident from that afternoon stands out. My 7-year old is an independent type, or at least he claims to be. He often runs off, convinced the world is his playground, and every day is a day to play. My wife and I have often gotten upset with him when he runs around in public places. We’ve tried to explain how dangerous this is. He says he gets it, but runs away again. When he was younger, my wife and I thought we might be driven to get one of those kid leashes. We chose not to do so.
This day, however, the little guy boy proved he’s not as independent as he likes to pretend. I was at a row of booths checking out the goods being promoted at one of them. My son ran toward the end of the booths to see some others items. I was watching him, so I knew exactly where he was. However, he thought I was behind him. When he turned and didn’t see me, he went a little nuts. When we reunited, he was upset. “Daddy, you left me. I thought you were behind me.” Telling him I was watching him the entire time didn’t make him feel any better.
That night, after my wife returned, our son regaled her with the story of how Daddy left him at the fall festival. We joked, saying “Don’t you like being by yourself?”
The truth is…no. As independent as he is, he needs to know someone is close by. When I put him to bed that night, he asked if I would sleep on the floor for a few minutes till he went to sleep.
“Are you scared?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
So, he still needs me. And I’ll enjoy that feeling as long as I can.
And so, when my older son went camping with his Boy Scout troop this past weekend, I found myself looking forward to some one-on-one time with my 7-year old. My wife made it easier, heading out for shopping with the girls on Saturday, leaving me to take my little second grader to his school’s fall festival. I’ve been to this festival every year since we’ve been in Georgia. It’s a good time for all. My son jumped on jumpies, came home with brownies from a cakewalk, and bought a poster at the book fair. (My wife is still getting on me about allowing this one. “He’s supposed to buy BOOKS, not POSTERS. I couldn’t help it. There were posters for sale and he really wanted one. He vacillated for several minutes between a poster for the Falcons and one for my alma mater, Auburn. He finally decided on the Auburn one. I’m sure that’s why my wife thinks I let him buy it.)
One incident from that afternoon stands out. My 7-year old is an independent type, or at least he claims to be. He often runs off, convinced the world is his playground, and every day is a day to play. My wife and I have often gotten upset with him when he runs around in public places. We’ve tried to explain how dangerous this is. He says he gets it, but runs away again. When he was younger, my wife and I thought we might be driven to get one of those kid leashes. We chose not to do so.
This day, however, the little guy boy proved he’s not as independent as he likes to pretend. I was at a row of booths checking out the goods being promoted at one of them. My son ran toward the end of the booths to see some others items. I was watching him, so I knew exactly where he was. However, he thought I was behind him. When he turned and didn’t see me, he went a little nuts. When we reunited, he was upset. “Daddy, you left me. I thought you were behind me.” Telling him I was watching him the entire time didn’t make him feel any better.
That night, after my wife returned, our son regaled her with the story of how Daddy left him at the fall festival. We joked, saying “Don’t you like being by yourself?”
The truth is…no. As independent as he is, he needs to know someone is close by. When I put him to bed that night, he asked if I would sleep on the floor for a few minutes till he went to sleep.
“Are you scared?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
So, he still needs me. And I’ll enjoy that feeling as long as I can.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
This Weekend (actually next weekend) in Atlanta
On Facebook this weekend, I posted a comment about taking out the Christmas decorations now that Halloween is over. My wife reminded me that I'm not the one who pulls out the decorations, she does. However, she'd never let me put up anything until after Thanksgiving anyway.
So, with that in mind, what better than a reminder that next weekend (Saturday, the 14th), Stone Mountain Christmas opens up for the Christmas season. For more information, please click here to be taken to the website.
So, with that in mind, what better than a reminder that next weekend (Saturday, the 14th), Stone Mountain Christmas opens up for the Christmas season. For more information, please click here to be taken to the website.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Too Soon to Pass By
Last October, we told my older son that it was his last year of trick-or-treat. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy it, but he’d outgrown the costumes at Party City. My wife had concocted a Harry Potter ensemble that my older son loved and we made sure that we hit every house in the neighborhood. While walking the neighborhood, we talked about what Halloween 2009 would be like. My son mentioned he wanted to play escort and take his little brother around.
As this October drew closer, he often mentioned his role in taking care of his little brother. He wanted my wife and I to have a night to our own. As much as I appreciated his consideration, I knew I had to go. Unfortunately, the scariest people out on Halloween are sometimes not in costume. My older son debated with me vociferously, but as Dad I drew a line in the sand.
When this Halloween rolled around, my 12-year old made one last impassioned plea. I agreed to follow from a distance, but knew I would keep them in my sight. He could still escort his little brother. And, as it was raining, his little brother needed someone with an umbrella to keep the candy dry.
So, as my younger son, Bakugon (Japanese anime), went door-to-door, my older son had a quandary. The adults tried to give him candy, too. He initially refused it. (He didn’t have a bag.) But he finally gave in and began accepting the offerings, stuffing them into his pockets. When his pockets filled up, he gave them to me or dropped them in his little brother’s bag. When adults asked him what his costume was, he told them he was dressed as “Dad.”
After we got home, my wife suggested we might have made a mistake. There were many older kids, dressed in costume, who came to our house. My wife thought we’d aged our oldest out too early. Maybe next year, he could go door-to-door again.
My older son didn’t mind. He doesn’t like candy that much anyway. (And my younger son gets to ring the bell at every house.) However, for my older son, he tells me he got to be one of the things he wants to be when he grows up—he got to be Dad.
As this October drew closer, he often mentioned his role in taking care of his little brother. He wanted my wife and I to have a night to our own. As much as I appreciated his consideration, I knew I had to go. Unfortunately, the scariest people out on Halloween are sometimes not in costume. My older son debated with me vociferously, but as Dad I drew a line in the sand.
When this Halloween rolled around, my 12-year old made one last impassioned plea. I agreed to follow from a distance, but knew I would keep them in my sight. He could still escort his little brother. And, as it was raining, his little brother needed someone with an umbrella to keep the candy dry.
So, as my younger son, Bakugon (Japanese anime), went door-to-door, my older son had a quandary. The adults tried to give him candy, too. He initially refused it. (He didn’t have a bag.) But he finally gave in and began accepting the offerings, stuffing them into his pockets. When his pockets filled up, he gave them to me or dropped them in his little brother’s bag. When adults asked him what his costume was, he told them he was dressed as “Dad.”
After we got home, my wife suggested we might have made a mistake. There were many older kids, dressed in costume, who came to our house. My wife thought we’d aged our oldest out too early. Maybe next year, he could go door-to-door again.
My older son didn’t mind. He doesn’t like candy that much anyway. (And my younger son gets to ring the bell at every house.) However, for my older son, he tells me he got to be one of the things he wants to be when he grows up—he got to be Dad.
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