Quotables: Joshua and the Nefarious Bedtime Bed
You know what’s fun? Playing, that’s what. Not sissy ring-a-round-the-rosies or Easy-Bake oven playing . No– Cool playing; like explosions and ships and Legos and Star Wars guys. But you know what’s not fun? Going to bed.
So Joshua is in full-bore Star Wars playing mode: soundtrack, explosions, “Yessirs!” and “Yaaaaaaahs” when suddenly all the action-figure adventure runs straight into the double-plated impasse of Family Home Evening and bedtime. Of course, this opened the floodgates to protesting, pleading, demanding and a general session of big, juicy tear-letting. Nevertheless! Like generations of mean parents before us, we emerged victorious and Joshua was assigned to start us off with a prayer:
“… thank you for this day. Please help me to stop crying and help us never, never to have ‘Family HomeNevening’…”
Obviously testing the waters, Joshua looks up to witness the Lady-Friend Evil Eye baring down on him and without missing a beat, redacts and counters:
“Please help that we can have Family ‘HomeNevening’… and please make my bed go away.”
Joshua and “Papa’s work”? Not on speaking terms. I receive at least one daily call asking me where I am (“Work”), why I’m there (“To earn money so we can have a house and food”), and when I’m going to hurry home in 5 minutes (usually “2-4 hours”). In Joshua’s mind, work is 100% overrated (agreed!) and gets in the way of the few hours a day we can play “StarWarstheCloneWars”. This is where Joshua has begun exercising faith… and this is where the whole “faith of a little child” gives me massive anxiety. Especially when I hear stuff like, “Hey, Papa. I asked Heavenly Father to take away your job so you won’t have to go to work any more.”
We nipped that faithful request in the tender little bud real quick.
Papa should probably do a better job of explaining to Joshua what work is. Today, I found out he’s pretty convinced work is a trap. “Papa, I want you to come home. Do you have a thing you can break through your work door?”
After explaining his Papa wasn’t trapped at work (liar!), Joshua decided it was time to wind the call down. “Papa, I’m gonna ask you five questions. I love you, I love you and ummm… uh… come home safely… and ummmm… um, you’re gonna play Star Wars with me and, ummmm… I’m setting up the Star Wars guys on the couch. Bye.” Click.
Last night we made a naughty–therefore, fantastic– pudding cake. After whipping up the batter, Lady-Friend handed Joshua the spatula. Eyes wide, he responds: “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
Joshua and I have been watching “When We Left Earth“- a super-fantastic documentary about the birth and advancement of the U.S. space program. Every episode begins with a boilerplate introduction. Joshua was helping Lady-Friend mix up another batch of something sure to keep my size 36 jeans far, far away from becoming a write-off for charitable contributions. As they licked beaters, Joshua matter-of-factly explains to Lady-Friend what else he has on his mind: “Mama, six astronauts changed the world.”
We’ve got trees in our back yard. Birds land in them. Sometimes I like to strike up meaningless conversation about them just to pass the time. This was one of those times.
Papa: Hey, Joshua.– What kind of bird is that?
Joshua looks out the window and nonchalantly turns back: A Twinkle Bird.
Ah yes. The Twinkle Bird.
Sometimes I get the feeling Joshua and I are going to be bumping heads later next decade. Observe: Joshua and I are enjoying happy-rough-house-time. All laughs and memory-making. I’ve got an ice cube, Joshua has an ice cube and we’re taking turns “zapping” each other on the neck with them. Like I said, good times and laughs aplenty…
…until I decide to stuff an ice cube down his shirt. Oh, he’s still laughing, but he’s on the wood floor and moves his elbows out from under him to get at the ice cube now melting between his shirt and chest. As he does, his head loses its prop support and takes a nosediving BONK straight into the wood floor. Fun Papa is no longer. Now I’m Jerk Papa and Joshua retreats to Lady-Friend’s leg where he, through drippy tears chastises me: “See papa? That’s why we don’t put ice cubes down peoples shirts!!” Oh. That’s why.
Joshua may be watching too much TV. Problem is, he isn’t… but he apparently knows Geico. The other day Joshua was rifling through a stack of mail and picked up an envelope we’d had lying on the entry bench. “Mama? Is this Geico? This is Geico. He wants to keep our money safe.”
Just wait until he gets even with you for knocking out his teeth.
See Papa, that is why we don’t wrestle on concrete.
ahhh man you little guy is so stinkin cute, and smart. And you my friend are a little guys dream dad, you are pretty amazing with that little fella, and my little fella to boot.
Oh, Jenny. It’s already come to pass.
“What happened to your teeth, Joshua?”
“My Papa broke them out.”
To which I immediately blurt, “But it was an ACCIDENT!!”. I then throw my arms in the air, flail down the hall and plop on my bed to cry into my pillow while yelling “Don’t Look at me!!” at anyone who comes to see what was wrong.
Ems– I know I’m a little partial, but I’m still totally going to agree with you about Joshua’s radness. You’re little guy’s no slouch either, that’s for sure.
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