Sleepy...

It's 1:39 AM, and I'm still up.

Why?

Sebastian told all the kids in his class at school about my chocolate-chip cookie bars. He told them he'd bring in a bunch for his birthday on Monday. We only have one pan that's good for that sort of thing, and Teri's going to use it tomorrow to make lasagna for his birthday party with the family (and he had a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese today, but I'd like to forget that). So I had to bake the cookie bars tonight.

But...it's an insulated pan. And when I was just about to use it, it sloshed. Somehow water had gotten into it. When that happens, it has to be baked for a while, upside-down, to get the water out. That, plus the cooling time thereafter, is why I'm up so late.

And now, I shall sleep.

Remind me to write later about a bad grade Sebastian got last week, and what we decided to do about it.

Sleepy...

It's 1:39 AM, and I'm still up.

Why?

Sebastian told all the kids in his class at school about my chocolate-chip cookie bars. He told them he'd bring in a bunch for his birthday on Monday. We only have one pan that's good for that sort of thing, and Teri's going to use it tomorrow to make lasagna for his birthday party with the family (and he had a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese today, but I'd like to forget that). So I had to bake the cookie bars tonight.

But...it's an insulated pan. And when I was just about to use it, it sloshed. Somehow water had gotten into it. When that happens, it has to be baked for a while, upside-down, to get the water out. That, plus the cooling time thereafter, is why I'm up so late.

And now, I shall sleep.

Remind me to write later about a bad grade Sebastian got last week, and what we decided to do about it.

Seven

So he's seven now.

Tonight he cried, and told us he doesn't want to get older; he thinks the older you get, the less fun you have.

Okay, time for me to be immodest. Long ago I read a lot of Agatha Christie; Hercule Poirot was my favorite. One of his quirks is extreme (and justified) vanity about his intellect. At some point Hastings, his rather stereotypical British sidekick, reproaches Poirot for his lack of modesty. Google Books let me find Poirot's response:

"Why should I play the hypocrite? ... Why should I turn red and stammer and mutter into my chin that I am really very stupid? It would not be true."

There. Have I set myself up enough now? :D

I admit it: I'm generally pretty pleased with my parenting skills. My greatest weakness is probably an almost overwhelming urge to laugh when Sebastian gets angry or upset. He's so cute when he gets upset! (And aren't you sick of hearing me talk about him?)

I also find it hard to resist teasing him sometimes. But that said, I can usually find the right thing to say or do to make things better.

Back to tonight: he was crying, almost hysterical, saying he didn't want to get older. I started telling him a story I remembered from The Foundling, a collection of short stories by Lloyd Alexander set in the Book of Three world of Prydain. I told it well; he got interested, laughed at some jokes, and forgot to cry. Finally I went over to a shelf and grabbed the book itself, so I could read the whole thing to him. He fell asleep about half-way through. I'll read the rest to him tomorrow.

It's not a perfect answer to the sadness of aging and death. But it's the best that I could come up with on the spur of the moment. Just in case, I'll throw in a cut for spoilers:
( Read more... )

Tonight...tonight, I feel particularly good about being a father.

Seven

So he's seven now.

Tonight he cried, and told us he doesn't want to get older; he thinks the older you get, the less fun you have.

Okay, time for me to be immodest. Long ago I read a lot of Agatha Christie; Hercule Poirot was my favorite. One of his quirks is extreme (and justified) vanity about his intellect. At some point Hastings, his rather stereotypical British sidekick, reproaches Poirot for his lack of modesty. Google Books let me find Poirot's response:

"Why should I play the hypocrite? ... Why should I turn red and stammer and mutter into my chin that I am really very stupid? It would not be true."

There. Have I set myself up enough now? :D

I admit it: I'm generally pretty pleased with my parenting skills. My greatest weakness is probably an almost overwhelming urge to laugh when Sebastian gets angry or upset. He's so cute when he gets upset! (And aren't you sick of hearing me talk about him?)

I also find it hard to resist teasing him sometimes. But that said, I can usually find the right thing to say or do to make things better.

Back to tonight: he was crying, almost hysterical, saying he didn't want to get older. I started telling him a story I remembered from The Foundling, a collection of short stories by Lloyd Alexander set in the Book of Three world of Prydain. I told it well; he got interested, laughed at some jokes, and forgot to cry. Finally I went over to a shelf and grabbed the book itself, so I could read the whole thing to him. He fell asleep about half-way through. I'll read the rest to him tomorrow.

It's not a perfect answer to the sadness of aging and death. But it's the best that I could come up with on the spur of the moment. Just in case, I'll throw in a cut for spoilers:
( Read more... )

Tonight...tonight, I feel particularly good about being a father.