One hand for the toddler, one hand for the phone. Sea captain rules of course. I would prefer to have two hands for the toddler, that would be more reasonalble I think. Actually I would prefer to have two hands for the phone, the phone is pretty expensive and is not covered by health insurance.
Bacon Hoss and I are at volleyball practice. Well, we are near volleyball practice. We are at the playground right next to volleyball practice. Having a three year old stay quiet in a gym is basically impossible. Bigfoot riding the Loch Ness monster is more possible than my toddler not running onto a volleyball court. That would mortally embarrass his older sister who is quite good at humoring the little man provided that she gets to dress him up all slutty every once in a while. She likes to go heavy on the eye shadow.
So in order to support both of my kids, I am at the playground next to volleyball. That way she knows that I think what she is doing is important and my youngest son can conquer his fear of climbing really tall things. I find it strange that he has this fear given that he will run into traffic for a skittle. Seriously, he would run right out into an 8 lane freeway for a piece of candy. It's his scoobie snack except the cars coming to crush him don't wear masks.
He gets to the top of the climbing wall but just can't seem to get that one more step and over. The 6 feet before was no problem, but that last step proves to be the unsurmountable obstacle. The three year old pschye makes absolutely no sense and that is ok. I've got one hand on his butt telling him he can do it, he can make it, you have to swallow that fear little guy.
My other hand is quickly scrolling through a twitter feed. #Multitasking.
The twitter feed that I am reading is also important and for a very good reason. Tonight Hossmom is giving a speech about how to network. She's in front of a ton of people dropping the knowledge and apparently it is trending which 30 minutes ago I had no idea what that meant.
I really do wish I could be there to see this moment for her, to show up in person to cheer her on, to let her know that her family has her back. We are family that means we are supposed to be eachother's biggest cheerleaders. But volleyball practice and jungle gym climbing keep me away. Luckily, there are a ton of people writing down their impressions so it's almost like I am right there with her.
Hossmom drops a joke about taco's and then follows it up with a Missy Elliot lyric. My girl is exploding at that point. I know the jokes of course, I have heard them roughly 3000 times prior to the actual speech. I obediently sat on the bed over and over again while she worked the wording, nodded and offered feedback although I am a bit disappointed that the stripper joke I feed her didn't make the final cut. Stripper jokes always kill I tell her but she decides that in a professional atmosphere that it might not be appropriate. Missy Elliot I tell her. Missy Elliot. Use the stripper joke!
Now, I could be a bit bitter for a little bit if that was my nature. Where Hossmom is at there is free food, tons of grownups talking about grownup things and all the wine apparently you can drink. I don't really care for wine but I do like free a lot. While she is there living the glamour I'm holding a butt that I'm pretty sure is farting on me while also checking in on my daughter to see if she has gotten her over hand serve down. I'm dirty to, which seems just to be just my natural state given that the only thing the kids leave clean are..... nothing. They leave nothing clean. They are dirty destructive tornados that wreck everything in their path. But that's ok, I don't mind being dirty. Our family motto is that if you aren't dirty then you aren't doing it right.
And I'm not bitter that Hossmom is living the highlife and getting all the accolades in public. Why? Because it is pretty fucking important that this little boy get that last foot up and make it to the top. It's pretty fucking important my little girl gets that one perfect overhand serve. Both those things are really important because Dad plays the long game, that's the only way to do this Dad thing.
Each individual experience, although each inconsequential on it's own, has a cumulative affect. That little boy conquering his fear this time will translate to the next time he has to do something that makes him scared or uncomfortable. My little girl gaining the confidence from that one perfect serve will begin to grow her confidence in other area's of her life. This stuff builds up and knowing that makes what I'm doing now, although seemingly inconsequential, extremely important in the long run.
Tonight I had a grill cheese sandwhich for diner. Hors d'oeuvres were a piece of pepperoni because it's the last one, hands off, I will cut you. Hossmom had something that I can't pronounce and I'm not even going to try and spell. And that's ok because what we are both doing is important, one just happens to get rave reviews and everyone wants to talk to you and the other one has to take the time to put on a fancy dress and get stage sweat while people tweet about you.
Bacon Hoss gets that last leg over and stands up. He is laughing and jumping enough so that I'm sure he is going to take a tumble. I'll catch him though, its what I do. He conquered it, my boy got to the top and sometimes I think other's must hate having to miss stuff like this. I don't, I get to see the triumph and that's what I need whether that is in person or on a computer.
My other son is at boyscouts right now, I'll pick him up after volleyball practice. We are reading a book together and I'm going to father the shit out of that one too.
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