How's it going?

I have been Marked for Death. No, Steven Seagal is not going to invert my elbow and beat me with my own arm. It seems that the illness rampant in my happy house has decided that I am its next tasty target. I am the next to be laid low with my family illness, and it looks like I will be the latest to fall at my work to the unseen pathogens that seem to cause co-workers to go missing for a few days at a time. It is my time, and I shall bear this burden of ailment with the quiet dignity you have all come to expect from me. Sadly, I have no dignity, but, alas and alack, I also lack the energy to complain sufficiently for the suffering I am going through.

Last night I accidentally infuriated Little Man. Last night I asked the wonder child “How’s it going?” He did not understand the question, but he did understand the word “going.” This understanding of that particular word led to the monumental misunderstanding of my question.

He brought me his shoes. His shoes are sneakers purchased from Target. They have Elmo and Cookie Monster on them and 3 lights on the heel that light up when he steps down on the shoe. They are velcro shoes, and his favorites shoes for the moment. I said, “I’m sorry, big guy. I didn’t mean that we were ‘going’ anywhere.” His lip started trembling at the word “sorry.” I just crushed him. He was absolutely devastated. The night only degraded from that. He and I were just missing each other. I didn’t understand things he was saying. He didn’t understand things I wanted him to do. Check that, he either didn’t understand or didn’t want to at that point. Boy howdy! was he pissed at me for the rest of the night. He acted as if I had punched him in the gut.

I felt horrible for a good bit of last night. I, as a parent, really do not want to mislead my wonderful little boy. I do not seek out fights to have with him. Enough fights will come about just because both he and I are rather willful. Battles fought over misunderstood vocabulary are unavoidably tragic, but last night I felt like I set my kid up and then yanked the rug out from under him. This is just one aspect of parenting that they (who are “they” really?) never prepare you for. I know I am doing my best as a parent, and that these kinds of instances are un-avoidable. It just sucks when they do happen.

This morning I seemed to be forgiven. I was the only one who was allowed to give him his “nill towch” or vanilla sugar toast. This is his breakfast delicacy of choice at the moment. It is Great Harvest’s Old Fashioned White Bread toasted to a nice golden color, “buttered” with Penzey’s Spices Vanilla Sugar sprinkled on for a flavor. Oddly most of his words end with a “ch” sound or a hard “k” sound. Not sure what all that is about. I realized I was forgiven when he patted the seat next to him on the sofa and said in his clear yet oddly deep child voice “chair.” Now, when I say “oddly deep” I do not mean that he sounds like James Earl Jones in Conan the Barbarian, I mean his voice is deep for a kid of 2.5 years of age. Although, I could picture him saying, “Contemplate this on the Tree of Woe.” He is a sweet kid, even if one day he will crucify Conan on a dead tree.

To Recap
Not well, oh not well at all
So, How’s it going, everyone?
I figured I could ask you folks
Little Man enjoys his Target shoes, but the expensive shoes we got him seem to be made of lava and broken glass
FYI: “They” apparently are my mother and her mom – both of whom will give their opinion to anyone who will attempt to make eye contact with them
Beef Macaroni Skillet for supper
God, am I tired
Hey, Nadolny, where’s the love?