Team Marriage
The Chief cried all day today. Cried, wailed and sobbed. Sometimes rolled on the floor and sometimes insisted on whining into my shoulder blade. He would not be coddled, he would not be appeased. Even when I put ginger ale in his sippy.
The Chief has a very calm temperament most days. Most days he takes apart the vacuum and puts it back together. Most days he plays with the hose in the backyard. Most days I let him go free range without a diaper.
But not today. Today he wouldn't even let me turn on the vacuum. Or the hose. And when I took off his diaper he left a trail of stink in the green room. Then he stepped in it (of course) and continued the trail of bum crumbs into the kitchen.
(I swore in my childless days that I'd never NEVER blog about my child's excrement, but here I am and it adds a nice spice of drama to my post. What am I going to do?)
He might be teething. He might be growing. He might just be ornery. But at exactly 4:40pm I was I was done guessing. I needed a beverage, and I needed a Daddy.
And then we heard the broom, broom of a motorcycle, and in walked a tall, dark spaceman who, when he took of his helmet, revealed to The Chief that Daddy was home! Sweet sound of testosterone! Dad was home, sing the songs of salvation!
Dad took The Chief to the grocery store.
Dad fed The Chief from his own chili-stuffed baked potato.
Dad played remote control cars up and down the street.
Dad wrestled, rocked and rolled The Chief around in the living room.
Dad made funny faces until The Chief (FINALLY!) laughed.
Dad sang the songs of Zion while Mom plunked at the piano.
And when it was time, Dad put The Chief to bed with a bottle and a prayer.
Sometimes I like to think about why I advocate marriage. Today the reason was this: Dad swore before God that he would take care of Mom. A huge, terrifying promise, really. But today, it meant that when The Chief had his fifth smelly diaper, Mom sat on her sunchair and thanked the heavens above she married someone who keeps his promises.
*Photo by Michael Wiltbank
The Chief has a very calm temperament most days. Most days he takes apart the vacuum and puts it back together. Most days he plays with the hose in the backyard. Most days I let him go free range without a diaper.
But not today. Today he wouldn't even let me turn on the vacuum. Or the hose. And when I took off his diaper he left a trail of stink in the green room. Then he stepped in it (of course) and continued the trail of bum crumbs into the kitchen.
(I swore in my childless days that I'd never NEVER blog about my child's excrement, but here I am and it adds a nice spice of drama to my post. What am I going to do?)
He might be teething. He might be growing. He might just be ornery. But at exactly 4:40pm I was I was done guessing. I needed a beverage, and I needed a Daddy.
And then we heard the broom, broom of a motorcycle, and in walked a tall, dark spaceman who, when he took of his helmet, revealed to The Chief that Daddy was home! Sweet sound of testosterone! Dad was home, sing the songs of salvation!
Dad took The Chief to the grocery store.
Dad fed The Chief from his own chili-stuffed baked potato.
Dad played remote control cars up and down the street.
Dad wrestled, rocked and rolled The Chief around in the living room.
Dad made funny faces until The Chief (FINALLY!) laughed.
Dad sang the songs of Zion while Mom plunked at the piano.
And when it was time, Dad put The Chief to bed with a bottle and a prayer.
Sometimes I like to think about why I advocate marriage. Today the reason was this: Dad swore before God that he would take care of Mom. A huge, terrifying promise, really. But today, it meant that when The Chief had his fifth smelly diaper, Mom sat on her sunchair and thanked the heavens above she married someone who keeps his promises.
*Photo by Michael Wiltbank
