TRYING TO BREAK ME DOWN
This morning was a particular downer. The kids were in a fine mood, though Amalia has become a tad more whiny than she was the first week (she is sick so I will let it slide). In fact, all three kids were on medicine last week. Anyway, this morning I was dreading all the things I had to try and do today while getting the kids fed and dressed. Elliot threw a tantrum over something or other, his brother didn't help things and Amalia was being one and throwing her food everywhere. But it was in the car where Isaac, age 5, took psychological warfare to the next level on his dad. He must have sensed blood.
Out of nowhere he says:
"Dad, how old was your daddy when he died?"
"Why didn't he live to be 100? (I somehow let slip that most people live to 100 to stop Isaac from worrying about dying. What do you tell a five-year-old about dying? That wasn't in the manual. Not one of my finer parenting moves.)
"He got sick, sweetie."
"Did you cry when your daddy died?" (You little, bugger. Why are you doing this?)
"Yes, I cried when my daddy died." (Now avoiding eye contact by looking out my window.)
"How old were you when your daddy died?"
"How about me?"
"You weren't born, yet, sweetie." (In fact, Michaela was about six months pregnant with Isaac (our first) when my dad passed away.)
Short pause, and then Isaac goes in for the kill.
"It's sad your dad didn't get to see me." (Easily the absolute biggest disappointment of my life thus far -- granted, I've had it pretty good.)
"Yeah, he would have liked you guys a lot."
"Maybe when I am older I can be a daddy."
"You would be an excellent daddy." (And I hope your kids do to you exactly what you do to me -- good and bad)