Sunday was pretty decent weather-wise so the wife and I headed to a playground with the kids, figuring the 50-something degree weather would be pleasant to be outside in. We asked coworkers of hers to join, which they did.
Clouds filled the entire sky, the wind was a little biting, but the kids ran amok unphased by the weather while the idiot parents froze their asses off. Well, not froze, but we weren’t as ignorant to the weather as a four-and-a-half, two- and one-and-a-half-year-old. They could give two shits about clouds or the fact that Sunday’s 55° felt more like 35°, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s February in New England and temps are officially in the 50s, I’m not going to complain. The boys ate lunch at the park while we, the parents, sucked it up for over an hour until deciding to call it quits.
Graham nearly passed out on the way home but held off, opting instead for an entire nap in the friendly confines of his crib.
Nolan and I decided to head out shortly after arriving home because he needed a haircut. Our destination was a local barber shop that is apparently closed on Sundays. Last time we attempted to go, it was also a Sunday, but a car had driven through the facade the night prior, so we went across the street to Cost Cutters. We went there again yesterday and apparently they’ve raised the price of a kids cut to $14.95, but it beats paying $19.95 for a cut at a kids place that give you a stupid toy he loses twenty minutes later. And there’s a Menchie’s next door, so win-win, right?
Then I asked the question: “Hey bud, wanna go to Staples?” You’d think I asked him if he wanted to meet Kevin the Minion. His face lit up, the smile ear-to-ear, and off we went.
We walked in and his smile got even bigger. The kid was in awe. All the office supplies he ever dreamed of owning under one roof. Ecstasy.
Watching a four-year-old – more specifically my four-year-old – light up with such unbridled joy over something as basic as office supplies was awesome. I can’t remember if I was this enthused by anything when I was four, but I’m stoked he has something he loves.
Writing, “reading,” counting, tracing, cutting, drawing – he’s so in touch with what I guess is his artistic side that I don’t even care about the paper scraps and markers strewn across the floor.
I was into sports growing up, mainly baseball, still am. I’ve played or coached for roughly 75% of my 34 years on this earth. I’ll watch sports in television and ask him who he wants to win, if he knows what sport they’re playing. Sometimes he interested, other times he’ll just bring a marker and paper to the couch and keep me company. I’m not gonna steer him one way or another. He did, however, want to sign up for instructional Little League, so we signed him up. He tried soccer back when he was three but wasn’t all that into it.
Selfishly, I’m glad he’s interested (I think) in baseball, but I also think it’s because he saw a few sample uniform tops and wants to be on the Volcanos. We’ll find out his team at the end of March. He also requested that I come watch him play instead of coaching. Deal.