If Rudolf Dreikurs had not died in 1972, I might be in prison today . . .
Tag: age four
Beautiful spring day in Ohio. Laundry room in the basement. Hanging clothes on the inside line from the dryer so they won’t be a wrinkled mess. My son, as usual, hungry for a snack. How does he always know when I don’t want to be interrupted in the middle of a task? . . .
We had recently moved and were delighted to find a babysitter across the street and a few doors down. Allison was about fourteen and lived with her dad, who had told us that his wife had recently passed away . . .
Captain America is cupping my son’s balls this morning.
Yes, you heard me right. Captain America—in full uniform, arms out wide, shield in hand—is spread across my four-year-old’s nuts as we speak . . . because when my son woke up this morning, he walked into the living room, frank and beans in full display on top of his pajama pants. When I inquired about this oddity, he said his pee-pee hurt and begged me to fix it. Of course I agreed to help. What’s a mommy to do? . . .
Every day at 3:15 p.m. my son and I walk two blocks to pick his sister up from kindergarten. Every day he has a fit, a small tantrum, or decides to become sixteen months old and needs to be held the few blocks to school . . .
As a father, I don’t believe I have yet had my finest hour—and as a father of four little girls, I doubt I ever will. It’s not that I haven’t gently wiped away a tear or two, or bandaged a skinned knee, or made my share of macaroni and cheese and peanut butter sandwiches. I have. But it’s out in public where I mostly fall down . . .
Rule 1.17 Athletic Supporter & Catching Gear Requirements:
All male players must wear athletic supporters; metal, fiber, or plastic type cups are acceptable. Cups must be worn at all times and not removed during breaks or between innings . . .
I have no toys.
I was hoping that at this stage of my life, as both husband and father, I would have some pretty cool toys. But I don’t. Instead I have four daughters, and this is why I have no toys . . .