You know, punkin, it was Valentine's Day yesterday. Valentine's day is all about, if we are to beleive the advertising, buying people that you love cards and flowers and chocolates and buying expensive dinners and keeping, punkin, the economy moving.
Surprisingly, your dad doesn't buy into all that.
Your mum and dad spent the evening of Valentine's Day curled up on the couch (this is, you will note, after you stopped screaming for the evening), drinking a bottle of vintage sparkling wine and watching a romantic movie after haveing steak frites for dinner.
This, though, was how we wanted to spend Valentine's Day. We wanted to have you there (although we were happy to have you in the next room and not screaming), because you are the living embodiment of our love.
That's a mushy sentiment, for sure, but it's Valentine's Day so I'm allowed to say it, and I'm allowed to say this:
That every time I look at you, I see your mum and how much I love her. That every time you smile at me, I see her smiling at me, looking at me with love in her eyes and joy in her face.
Happy Valentine's Day evey.
February 15, 2007
February 09, 2007
February 02, 2007
on yer bike
I don't think, punkin, that I was ever prepared for seeing this. I don't think that, in the years (yes, years) that it has been since we first began planning your arrival, I don't think that I ever fully grasped the concept that I would be able to, as a Dad, get the chance to watch you go for your first bike ride.
The night before Christmas, when, as we know, all through the house blah blah blah, while I was using all of my skill and several tools to skin my knuckles and assemble your velocipede, I don't think that I knew what a charge it would bring.
When we draped a blue sheet over the assembled device, when we finally toddled off to bed, for what I'm certain was our last Christmas Eve prior to full blown major excitement, I still hadn't figured out what it would mean to me.
Some of my own most treasured memories, memories that I know I will carry forever, are of me, my dad, and my bright red bike.
When I saw you take in the fact that there was a large orange bicyclating transportater resident in our living room. When you immediately spent four minutes getting on it, getting off it, getting on it, getting off it, then getting on it and refusing to dismount.
When you mandated that you would only eat breakfast while resident on your bike, when we took it outside and your mum and I took turns to whizzzzzz you up and down the street, it was nothing short of a defining moment in my life.
I seem to be having more of these recently. It's probable that my time away from you drove home to me how much of me is you.
It's important for you to know, when you run and play and jump and laugh uproariously when I blow bubbles in the bath, that your every squeal of joy is a sonic boom that buoys my soul.
That the influx of pride that overwhelms me, watching you fall over and then get back up in your indefatigable way, dusting off your hands noncholantly and carrying on with what you were doing with no dip in confidence, it's a rush like no other.
I see this opportunity, this chance to watch you grow and learn and laugh and cry, as the greatest boon ever granted to any man.
I promise to try to remember that, next time you throw your toast at me.
Love you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)