First Post!
Jumping in context free. It's more fun that way.
Yesterday I was sitting in the living room with Julie sharing a short story about James and I said something like "I don't want to forget that, that's awesome." She told me to write it down. Seems like not a bad idea.
Most of this blog will likely be very, very short entries. I like to write a lot -- if you know me at all, you know that about me -- but I simply don't have the time to do even a quarter of the writing I want to do.
So two quick stories to start things off.
One. Yesterday I was off. I took the day because James had an appointment at Smith Prosthetics and I thought rather than taking him back to daycare we'd just make it an outing and head over to the Science and Tech museuem while we were in that part of town. Most of the visit consisted of him running (prancing to be more accurate) around aimlessly, arms out to his sides at shoulder height, going aaah! the way he does when he's unable to express just how pleased he is with something.
So, yeah. Awesome. But it gets better. We were looking at something -- I don't remember what, maybe the car exhibit, maybe the trains, one of the usual spots, anyway -- and he took a few steps away from me, stopped, spun and ran back at me, hugging me as tight as he could when he crashed into me.
Two. Today James got his first time out at daycare (as far as I know) for fighting. Apparently he hit the new boy, Alexi, and Lynne sent him to his corner (not literally, I assume). I'm taking a significant portion of the blame for that, though, because everyone knows the way I play with James. We don't actually play, to be frank. We rough-house. I chase him around the house, he squeals and runs away and if I'm not close enough on his heels he'll stop and come back saying "Daddy? Daddy?". When I catch him I tackle him then tickle him until he can manage to escape, whereupon the whole process begins again. Stuff like that. A few weeks back I caught a head-butt to the mouth that left me bleeding and temporarily blind, but it was my own fault because I was blowing raspberries on his neck and his belly and he was kicking up quite a storm. And it's not like Christine didn't warn me beforehand.
Anyway, I think the way we play has kind of taught him that it's okay to play rough. One time a while back he was trying to take my glasses off my face and I kept thrashing my head from side to side so he couldn't get them. When he finally did the first thing he did was hit me with them.
My reaction? I laughed my ass off, of course. I still laugh about it.
That's probably sending him the wrong message though.
That's probably not going to change how I play with him.
Yesterday I was sitting in the living room with Julie sharing a short story about James and I said something like "I don't want to forget that, that's awesome." She told me to write it down. Seems like not a bad idea.
Most of this blog will likely be very, very short entries. I like to write a lot -- if you know me at all, you know that about me -- but I simply don't have the time to do even a quarter of the writing I want to do.
So two quick stories to start things off.
One. Yesterday I was off. I took the day because James had an appointment at Smith Prosthetics and I thought rather than taking him back to daycare we'd just make it an outing and head over to the Science and Tech museuem while we were in that part of town. Most of the visit consisted of him running (prancing to be more accurate) around aimlessly, arms out to his sides at shoulder height, going aaah! the way he does when he's unable to express just how pleased he is with something.
So, yeah. Awesome. But it gets better. We were looking at something -- I don't remember what, maybe the car exhibit, maybe the trains, one of the usual spots, anyway -- and he took a few steps away from me, stopped, spun and ran back at me, hugging me as tight as he could when he crashed into me.
Two. Today James got his first time out at daycare (as far as I know) for fighting. Apparently he hit the new boy, Alexi, and Lynne sent him to his corner (not literally, I assume). I'm taking a significant portion of the blame for that, though, because everyone knows the way I play with James. We don't actually play, to be frank. We rough-house. I chase him around the house, he squeals and runs away and if I'm not close enough on his heels he'll stop and come back saying "Daddy? Daddy?". When I catch him I tackle him then tickle him until he can manage to escape, whereupon the whole process begins again. Stuff like that. A few weeks back I caught a head-butt to the mouth that left me bleeding and temporarily blind, but it was my own fault because I was blowing raspberries on his neck and his belly and he was kicking up quite a storm. And it's not like Christine didn't warn me beforehand.
Anyway, I think the way we play has kind of taught him that it's okay to play rough. One time a while back he was trying to take my glasses off my face and I kept thrashing my head from side to side so he couldn't get them. When he finally did the first thing he did was hit me with them.
My reaction? I laughed my ass off, of course. I still laugh about it.
That's probably sending him the wrong message though.
That's probably not going to change how I play with him.
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