Rumor has it that a substantial and growing list of activities awaits my return to Massachusetts this evening. Sarah has apparently decided (and rightly so, in most of the cases she cited) that there's simply not enough time during the week to take care of all of the things that Nicholas wants to do, so she's started telling him that these tasks have to wait until Daddy comes home.
And if it makes me the Cool Dad, so much the better. (That myth is going to go "poof!" all too soon as it is.)
So when I get home, I have to make a CD with "Dominick the Donkey" on it ("for Mommy's car"), help put lights out on our balcony (since everyone else has them), put up the Christmas tree. Of course, that's not even counting what's on the honey-do list.
Ahem.
Oddly enough, there's precedent for this sort of interaction between me and small children. When I first left for college, Uncle Patrick was still a little tyke. He liked to ask questions. Why this? How come that? "Wait for Joe to come home," my parents and other brothers would patiently answer, both to relieve themselves of the obligation to answer and to entertain themselves with what they imagined would be the deluge. Made for an interesting Thanksgiving my freshman year.
In the meantime, if Nicholas thinks I'm a hero for burning "Dominick" onto a CD, who am I to complain?
Hero Joe, that's got a nice ring to it! :)
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