So I’ve been thinking more about this whole Diary thing, and I’m definitely not going to call it a Diary, that’s one place where Gregg and I agree, this…is a Journal!
Sometimes, I have to admit, I’m at the end of my rope. Did I say “sometimes”…that’s funny because it’s most times. Not only does this damn kid have my heart like nothing else before but it’s HARD raising a kid. I don’t even know how anyone with more than one does it; I think you must just have to forget about a couple of them.
I remember the time when my son, Arthur, was like a little back pack…you know like the cutest little back pack you could imagine, like a living back back, or front pack or…pet…do you remember? Like in the 6 month to 18 month phase, you just picked ’em and carried them with you, no arguing, no opinions, no complaining, no hating you, no cryin…well yes, there was some crying, but it reall wasn’t anything you did. Not like today when getting out of bed to say hello to grandma is like the world asking for Arthur to save it in 10 minutes.
I mean really – I know he’s young and all and doesn’t have any experience and doesn’t share my feelings about how you should or should not behave around family, but for the love of all things holy and all of the heavens above, get your ass out of bed, smile like the sweet boy I know you are and say hello to your fucking grandmother who has only one goal, now, in life…to see you (actually she has two goals, the first is to see you and the second is to make sure you’re terrified of anything hot, sharp, sour, smelly, moving, dark, light, sweet…you know what I mean…I know you know what I mean!!).
But no! That’s not how it’s gonna be with Arthur…as he lets out an “Uggghhh” as if he’s just been asked to empty the dishwasher, stack wood, do his homework and throw away his Xbox, all before breakfast. Yup that’s what it’s like. And I just look at my wife, glance at Grandma (silently judging) and sigh – all because I don’t want to yell at my sweet boy to get up.
Usually I yell anyway!