#1 Tune out. Not only can he absorb himself in the Wall Street Journal, he can read article excerpts aloud to me (and formulate thought-provoking questions to solicit my analysis) while I'm stuffing a dish towel in my mouth to keep from screaming, "Don't you hear her?!" Milk, please, Daddy. Daddy, milk, please. Can I have some milk, please? Daddy, please, can I have some milk? May I please have some milk? Milk, please. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. I want to have some milk, please. MILK! MIIIIILK! please. May I have some milk? Daddy!
#2 Build with blocks. When I see those bright pieces of possibility piled in the basket, I think, "Oh, that looks like fun!" But as soon as I pick up a block a familiar dread creeps in as I realize I don't know what the heck to do with these things. I don't know how to translate the images in my mind to anything in the physical world, and the brightly colored pieces of possibility quickly become mini- monuments to my mental paralysis. But put a couple of blocks in Daddy's hands and he starts channeling Frank Lloyd Wright! Towers and turrets, castles and cathedrals, vaulted ceilings, vaulting seals, plantations with elevators and fountains, casinos, a ferris wheel, theaters, an ampitheater!
#3 Change crib sheets. For him it's just flip, smooth, tuck, done. When I do it I end up looking like I lost a bar brawl to a pack of hormonal gorillas.
#4 Ask for help. "Honey, can you get the small Phillips head screwdriver from the tool chest? No, too small. I need a bigger one. Can you get it for me? Thanks. I need a flashlight too. Thanks. Now can you hold it right here? OK, now I need some paper towels and a small bowl of water. Honey? Can you hear me in there? Yeah, I also need that black plastic backing piece. Find it for me? Thanks. All set. Oh, hang on. Wait with me while I see if this adheres... no, no, it's coming off. Piece of junk! Here, take my keys. Can you run to the store and get the other kind... it comes in a blue can. If they don't have it there have them call their other locations. If you have to go across town you'll probably have to stop at the gas station. Thanks, Babe. You're taking the kids with you, right? I won't get anything done with them here."
#5 Anything with a power source.
#6 Sleep. When he's ready, he simply closes his eyes and sleeps. It's that easy for him. I, on the other hand, routinely lie awake for hours thinking about everything, nothing, writing To Do lists in my mind... I can't even say I accomplish anything with my insomnia, because the snippet of sleep I snatch a half hour before the alarm goes off somehow erases the preceding hours of deep thought.
#7 Lie.
To his little girl: "The library is closed. They don't sell ice cream here. Everyone in the world is going to bed right now."
To me: "You're as beautiful as the day we got married." He's very good...
Sally Bacchetta - Freelance Writer
Freelance Writer
Parenting
Motherhood
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