prodigy progeny

I know what you are thinking:  there has been a dearth of Cole photos and information in my writing of late.

The problem I have writing about Cole is the same reason I don't write about my own accomplishments.  It sounds, to my ear, self aggrandizing.  The guy is a superb example of how to be a boy.  See?  That sounds like a pretty big call, but humor me and read on.

This is one of my favorite photos of Cole and me (2006).

I like it because it represents much of the time we spend together.  Cole and I can take anything simple and amuse ourselves.  We can delight in the details of the ordinary.

At the age of nine, he already has a fantastic sense of adventure, mad Uno skills, and an almost diabolical ability to convince me to incorporate chocolate into whatever meal I am preparing.  He is far ahead of me when I was his age in every way - origami, drawing, athletics, lego, design, and being a good brother.  He is quick to help out around the house and will give Gabe a piggy back ride whenever asked.

It seems like most of my family members merely tolerate my incessant rambling, but with Cole I feel like he is actually trying to understand.  He listens with a look of deep concentration, searching for the reason why I feel it is necessary to discuss mathematical limits with him during my introduction to the wonders of Calculus.  It is not one sided though.  We share mutual passions.  Seeing each other excited about something creates this resonance that makes whatever we are obsessing about much better.

The thing I love about parenting Cole is that I know he is going to be okay.  He is on a good course.  Whatever happens in his life from here on out, he will be able to handle and he will thrive.  I am normally adopt a worst case scenario view of things, but with Cole I can be an optimist.  He has a way of bringing that out in people.  That sweetness and sincerity is his charm.

Currently listening to:  Django Django - Django Django (I highly recommend the song Wor)

Welcome home, kill this please

[Text conversation with my wife as I pull into the driveway]

Mary: Come inside quickly.  There is a massive spider in the dining room. Your department!

Joe: I don't do spiders.  I will come in the house when you tell me it is gone.

Mary: Yes you do.  Suck it up!

Joe:  Once!  One time I killed a spider for you!  I will take care of all the snakes you want.

Mary:  Good to know.  Now it will be twice.

Joe:  I'm going back to work.  It is safer in my car.  Spider proof even.

Mary: I don't think it is a huntsman, or I would put a bucket on it.

Joe:  There is a car in the garage for you.  The kids can fend for themselves.

Mary:  Come in now before it crawls away and disappears.

Joe: I wish.  This is your fault.  You warned me.

Mary:  It might just be a huntsman.

Joe:  THAT DOES NOT MAKE IT ANY BETTER!  I do not like any spiders, regardless of their species or creed.

Mary:  It is now crawling towards the garage. 

----

At this point, I came in the house.  If the thing fortifies itself in our garage, it will have a massive tactical advantage and I risk finding thousands of mutant spider babies in my camping gear.  Which, now that I think about it, is still a high probability.

Mary was not amused.  The spider had made it into the garage and when she peeked her head through the door and looked around the corner, this is what she came face to face with.

For perspective, each of those legs is three inches long.  I measured the door jamb in the photo to make sure I am not exaggerating. 

It is a bad photo because he was crouching in the corner and I wouldn't get any closer than than a broom's length to him.  Most of the photos I took of him are blurry; a product of me shaking violently in anticipation of him leaping off the wall and attaching to my face.  

He moved further along the wall.  Mary handed me the can of Spider Napalm and I sprayed him which did no actual damage, it is just a courtesy shot to let him know the duel has commenced.  I then put thousands of hours practicing with my sword to use and beat him into a pulp with the broom.

----

When relating the story to a friend (an American friend, because any Australian I would tell this story to inevitably ends up telling me a more hideous spider story and nobody wins when exchanging tales of near death arachnid experiences), he asked me if I identified the spider.  No!  I have not.  Identifying a spider involves looking at a large selection of spider photos.  I would rather jamb blunt objects into my eye sockets.  If you want to know what kind of spider it is, use the above photo and enjoy yourself.  We live in southeast Queensland, near a river, if that is any help to you.

To cleanse your mental palette, here is a picture of my lovely wife and Gabe.

Currently listening to:  Bat for Lashes - The Haunted Man

I have the sense of delicacy of a bear trap

It was a bad day as a father for me.  I had little sleep the night before and Gabe chose this morning to compete for the position of head of household.  It didn't go well for him.  I was probably 50% more unyielding than I should have been.

Factors of safety are not applicable to disciplinary measures.  Finesse is the mark of a good parent.

Boundaries are a tricky thing.  My dad once explained to me that a child's entire purpose is to push boundaries.  To systematically test what is right and wrong and find where acceptable behavior lies.  I may be misquoting him because, from anecdotal evidence, my father understands that kids are binary: either eating or playing.  I think he was trying to give me insight into those two modes.

I have such small quantities of time with my children during the week that everything seems distilled to intense interactions.  I find myself manufacturing the cliché "what did you do today" conversation as though that will fill me in on my child's life.  They have not mastered the memorandum bullet point form of communication.

Gabe will wake up tomorrow and I will have another chance to be a patient and loving father.  That is comfort in the resiliency of our children in the face of my imperfections.