November 12, 2006
When I got home yesterday afternoon, you were asleep, I got a few quick minutes with your mum and then you woke, I ran in to see you, and your initial look of bewilderment was so priceless - like "hangon, you weren't here before!"
I got you up and showed you the great truth that every boy with a travelling businesstype dad finds out, that every trip ends with a present. I think you like your truck.
November 08, 2006
Sometimes, punkin, when you see people laughing, you wonder what they know that you don't, you wonder why their lives are easier than yours, why they are so able to skate through the day without, punkin, any mud sticking to their trouserlegs.
And then, if you're very very very lucky,
You get home from work, and a shining angel calls you "Dad" and bestows unconditional love. And it all makes sense, at least for a while...
Love you, more than you'll know until you have your own pumpkin.
November 01, 2006
It's got to be said, punkin, that I'm not sure you were the scariest ghost on the block.
To be perfectly frank, I'd have to suggest that it's likely you were the LEAST scary ghost on the block. Having said that, I will state for the record that you were the CUTEST ghost on the block, for the 3.72 seconds that you were actually wearing this costume, before rapidly (and showing an astonishing capability to multitask at such an early age) divesting your self of said costume and painting it with toast.
You did, however, stand still long enough for your mother to take a photo, which was probably all you needed to do. As someone famous once famously said, 80% of most success owes itself primarily to showing up in the first place (or something like that).
Your dad is feeling a bit overwhelmed with work at the moment, which is why it's my absolute favourite part of the day to come home to you and your mum. You stand in the driveway and wait for me, you see me coming down the street and the grin that flashes on your face makes it hard for me to see where I'm going sometimes. CAR! CAR! DAD! DAD! DAD! CAR! high pitched cries reach me through whatever's cranking on the stereo, and I wind down the window and you pile in to smother me with Bramlove.
It's taking me aback, just these last couple of weeks, how much I can communicate with you. Everything we do together now is a conversation, a discussion, a meeting of minds, a negatiation. When we dress you in the morning, you find your shoes for me, when you undress at night you take them off. Before we leave the house you find my hat, and you always want to go and look at the car.
Your uncle John bought you a book, when you were very young, that's currently your favourite thing in the entire world. You take it to bed with you, you eat with it on your highchair tray (it is rapidly becoming considerably worse for wear) and its the first thing you reach for in the morning. It's called "My First Car Book", and everyone around you has had the benefit of a private reading. I can run through it here for those who can't be with us, although they'll have to grab their own copy in order to follow along.
It goes (with apologies for errors in translation) like this:
DAD'S CAR! DAD'S CAR! DAD'S CAR! (pointing with gusto at the picture of a silver station wagon)
Sure, the plot's a bit thin, but the cast is fabulous.