I’ve been sporting a somewhat new look lately.
Some have told me they like it, that “it looks good on ya'”
Others have asked “that your winter look?”
It’s a beard that I’ve had hanging around my face as of late, and I’m not quite sure whether or not to let it remain. It all started unintentionally. Over the course of the summer, I had gotten a cut of some sort on my face that the doctors thought had become infected. As it was healing, I was told by the doctors not to shave, for fear of cutting it open and starting the process all over again.
So I didn’t. And the hair grew, and grew and grew.
Now, I look a bit like I’m going to go in our backyard and chop wood. It’s a look and (sometimes itchy) feel I’ve not quite grown accustomed to over the years. With the exception of a ‘van dyke‘ (don’t mistakenly call it a goatee, I’m told) during some time in college, I’ve pretty much been a clean-shaven guy all my life. So now that all has healed and I can shave if I like, I’m not sure if I should.
Yes, I’ve gotten ‘good reviews’ so far from friends and family. But, this week, I got an opinion from my most brutally honest fan of all – our two year old son.
“No beard, dada! No beard!” he told me, firmly, then proceeding to try and wipe it or brush it off of my face.
“Me cut, dada! Me cut!”
If there’s one thing you can always count on amid the unpredictability of kids, it is that they will almost always speak the truth of what’s on their mind, what they think, in the most clear form possible.
If only we adults could do that.
Apparently, he does not approve, so we’ll have to see how long it sticks around.
There, on the floor, humming a little song to himself, was our son, now two and in full-on toddler mode, playing. Just playing. With a combination of toy animals, Fisher Price Little People and equally little Sesame Street characters, they were being placed in and out of a barn, a hay loft, or into a tractor, all against the carefree humming of a song I’ll never know, but makes me so glad to hear.
A plastic crate of apples (from the Little People farm stand set he got for his birthday), was placed inside his Little People plane.
“Who’s going on the plane, buddy?”
“Where are they going?”
“Where’s home for the apples?”
Little Ernie, in a construction worker outfit, was bounced along the roof of the barn along with a Little Boy Farmer toy. Were they hitting each other, I wondered, as he pushed them together.
“What are they doing, buddy?”
“They’re hugging, dada! Hugging!”
I couldn’t but help but smile at the delight and laughter that followed. His toys knew the power of a hug, because he does. It made me feel wonderful.
This time goes by quick. I realize I’ve been lax in keeping up to date on the standard childhood milestone – something you’d think I would be better at as a fatherhood blogger. A lot’s happened in recent months and I’ve sort of glossed over it in terms of chronicling.
We consider ourselves very very lucky that he’s shown an interest in the potty since he got one for Christmas back in December. He’s fortunately kept that interest and while still in diapers, he lets us know (most of the time, but admittedly not all) when he has to go, with a pat to his bottom and a “Dada! Mama! Potty!” giving us the cue that it’s time to take action and get him onto the pot!
Letters and numbers started cropping up on a regular basis in the winter and spring and once we noticed it, have tried to keep it up every day in some form or another. He took it upon himself to take letter magnets off the fridge and tell us which letters were in his hand. Within months, it’s only gotten better, and we sing our ABCs together as a family, and sometimes stop to let him fill in a gap and try his hand at what letter comes next. When we heard him mumbling in the winter as he’d go up and down the stairs, we weren’t quite sure what he was saying – until we listened closer and realized he was counting the steps as he went. Now, we count everything and anything. Sometimes we go straight through, and sometimes there’s a 7-8-9-10-9-7 based on his mood at the time.
Regardless, he’s interested. He’s curious. He wants to know and I love it.
He climbs into his car seat on his own now, which only in this past week, I turned around to face the same way I do when I drive him to and from each morning. We talk about what we see out the window.
He’s not a baby anymore. He’s a little boy.
As all these things were going on, I wasn’t writing them down because I now realize I was far too busy enjoying every single minute of it as it was happening.
How could I not?
He just turned two this summer. It’s flown by, and if I don’t savor every moment I can (taking a few moments here and there for reflection), well, I’ll let an old favorite of mine, Ferris Bueller sum it up: