Tucker's questions

Tucker is starting to ponder more and more. Today, whilst waving a plastic sword and jumping around in a mock fight with an invisible foe, he started talking to me about where he was "before he was home (with us) and before he was born." He talked about being in Kazakhstan and not being home yet. I confirmed that this was all true, and emphasized that we were so happy when we brought him home, that we didn't have a family until we had him, and that he was an "apple in our eye" way before we ever brought him home.

He then went on to ask where Iman (a neighbor child) was before she came home, and I explained that she was home right after she was born. I said that this wasn't true for Tucker (or his sister, Mia) because they were special in that way.

At this point, I prepared myself for the "where do babies come from" question. It didn't come.

Later in the day, he asked me where worms go when it rains. Man, did I ever dodge a bullet...

Not nice

I have an unwritten agreement with myself that I try not to write self-effacing stuff in any blog. It slips in, but I really do make a conscious effort to stay positive. The negative stuff I save for letters to my brother (sorry, Steve).

But there is one beautiful thing I want to write about today, and it does involve me feeling a little sorry for myself, so bear with me...

(I'm shaking my head as I recall the events of the day and what I'm about to write. Trivial, stupid stuff, really, and it was my whole life today)...

First, my wife has been out of town for three days and I've had the kids myself. It's gone OK overall, but today started out rough. We were out late last night because we went to a concert with friends (did I write about this already?). So anyway the kids were wiped out. And they hadn't eaten much all day yesterday. So I thought I'd be a good Papa and make them their favorite breakfast; especially Tucker's, since he really didn't eat hardly at all.

Yogurt, scrambled eggs, and a bran muffin. Believe it or not (I'm so proud) these are three of Tucker's most favorite things to eat for breakfast.

Well, he ate nothing today. He's not sick or anything. Just pissy. I was already off to a bad start.

After church, we had lunch. I tried again. Mac and cheese this time -- another usual crowd-pleaser. Nothing. Even their favorite chicken-noodle soup was only a minor success with Mia -- Tucker's ended up all over the dining room table when he accidentally knocked over the bowl while messing around.

I actually handled the spillage OK (I didn't "lose it") because it really was an honest accident. But I was still a failure as a parent because I couldn't feed my children. And I was snippy with both of them because I was also looking out the window at the monster hedge that I couldn't get a moment to trim. Tucker hung his head and pouted, finally just telling me that "I wasn't very nice." We had a heart-to-heart conversation, during which I agreed with him and apologized, but askrd him why he thought that I might be acting this way. He stayed silent in the way he usually does when he knows the answer (or the one I want), but can't bring himself to say it. Without blaming my mood on him, I told him that I was upset because I tried really hard to make good food for him that he liked, and he wasn't helping.

Later in the day I found myself snapping at both of them when I wanted to get 20 minutes to myself at the computer (what was I thinking?!).

Finally, while getting the kids ready to pick up my wife, I paused a moment and asked Tucker to give me a hug "because I needed one." He graciously and expertly complied, asking me "why do you need a hug, Papa?" I told him, getting a bit choked up, that "Oh, I'm just trying to be a good Papa, and sometimes it's hard."

I then went back to helping my daughter put her shoes on. A couple of minutes later, Tucker came over and offered: "Papa, sometimes you're good, but sometimes you're not nice."

Oh man, that brought a few tears. Fortunately, when I asked him if I was OK most of the time, he smiled and hugged me. With a kiss on my cheek, he said "yeah, Papa. I love you."

(gulp)

Swordplay

Tucker has always loved to play with swords. I guess it's in his Kazakh blood. We gave up long ago trying to teach nonviolence. After all, he sees me use "swords" and "sticks" when I practice Aikido, too. So I opted instead to teach him that there were rules regarding weapons. Rules like:

• Point it at me, and it's mine
• Soft swords only when playing with another person (the foam kind)
• No playing with someone who's defenseless.
• No playing with someone who doesn't want to play.
• Whoever plays the gentlest makes the rules.

So Tucker really wants to play with his sister. She's 3-1/2, and he's 4. He "gets" swords. She doesn't. Lord help me, but every time she picks up a sword and Tucker (gently) taps her on the head with his, she screams bloody murder. Oi.