Hobos, Clutches, and Sharks
Uncle G. came by last night to do laundry and join us for dinner. The grilled chicken and boiled rice turned out well. I hadn't seen a lot of twenty-seven year old guys laundering sheets so I accused G. of fucking a hobo on his. I told him that his sheets now smelled like wine, dirt, and semen. In typical Ryan fashion I just wouldn't let it rest. (I'm a terrier like that.) I was showing real concern and counsel by asking him over and over why he was fucking hobos.
No one thinks I am as funny as I do.
So the Honda's clutch is officially gone. M. picked Em and I up on Friday (and again today), helped with the whole daycare and getting to work thing. We made the cutest gay couple, working together fastening Em into his car seat and dropping him off at Temple. Emerson heckled us from the backseat of M.’s car most of the way—“Rock ‘n Roll, Bay-beeee!” and “How’s it goin’, Dog?!” Thanks to me, he ends many of his sentences now with Baby or Dog. It just cracks me up every time. If he had a crueler sense of humor, he would likely be lambasting me over the price I’m paying for a rental car and the cost of the tow to the shop tomorrow. I think they are having a special on clutches this week, so with labor it should come to just under the price of a three-bedroom home in San Francisco. Rock ‘n Roll, Bay-beeee!
On Saturday, Em and I walked down to the small neighborhood park and took a brief hike on the trail through the woods. He wanted to show me the spot where he and Aunt R. scared up a wild turkey a couple weeks ago when she was in town helping out. We saw the spot, some deep deer prints, and a bunch of bugs. Em got tangled up in a thorn bush but managed to survive. A few scratches on his legs but no worse for wear. He asked me the rest of the day, “Daddy? Who put ‘dose torns dere?” Even with a bum wheel, he managed to play his whole soccer game at 2:00p. Well, that’s partly accurate. While everyone else played soccer—kicking the ball and whatnot—Emerson was a shark. Quite literally. Arms spread straight out by his sides, running in a zigzag pattern, he swam by us on the sidelines with deadly stealth and exclaimed, “Hey Guys! I’m a shark!” When he wasn’t a shark, he stood inside one of the goals, with his head stuck through the netting making the most retarded faces at nothing in particular. I saw some poor sot behind the goal with a camera trying to help out by giving Em an exaggerated (albeit unenthused) thumbs-up sign and then looking away awkwardly. I mean, really, what the fuck do you do? I do love that Boy so.
Yesterday, the two of us went to the Caboose Park. He lucked up by finding the kids who live behind us. The two girls are older (8 and 10?) and are so nice to him. They were there as part of a soccer party but were kind enough to include Em in their running and playing. It was truly a delight watching my three-year-old lead a pack of ten kids in a perfect line over obstacles and mazes, through jumps, and up ladders and down slides. It looks as though he may end up with his mother’s leadership skills. Let us hope. Although exhausted, he wanted to argue all the way home that he wasn’t tired and didn’t need a nap. He was so very alert, in fact, that once I finally convinced him that he had to use the bathroom, he staggered over to the shower, pushed back the curtain, and started to undo his pants. I stood looking at him while he yellmuttered, “I’m not tired!” Pause. “Don’t pee in my shower, Boy,” I said. The surprised look, slow recognition, and beautiful sheepish grin that followed made my entire weekend.
So, we’ll see what this week brings. Rental cars, and clutches, and another soccer game. The regular grind of the grind I suppose. And like every week prior, I’m sure to find potholes and gems alike. It has already started well. I mean who else can boast of a young son with natural leadership ability who thinks he is a shark and pees in the shower—from the outside? I’m a lucky man.
No one thinks I am as funny as I do.
So the Honda's clutch is officially gone. M. picked Em and I up on Friday (and again today), helped with the whole daycare and getting to work thing. We made the cutest gay couple, working together fastening Em into his car seat and dropping him off at Temple. Emerson heckled us from the backseat of M.’s car most of the way—“Rock ‘n Roll, Bay-beeee!” and “How’s it goin’, Dog?!” Thanks to me, he ends many of his sentences now with Baby or Dog. It just cracks me up every time. If he had a crueler sense of humor, he would likely be lambasting me over the price I’m paying for a rental car and the cost of the tow to the shop tomorrow. I think they are having a special on clutches this week, so with labor it should come to just under the price of a three-bedroom home in San Francisco. Rock ‘n Roll, Bay-beeee!
On Saturday, Em and I walked down to the small neighborhood park and took a brief hike on the trail through the woods. He wanted to show me the spot where he and Aunt R. scared up a wild turkey a couple weeks ago when she was in town helping out. We saw the spot, some deep deer prints, and a bunch of bugs. Em got tangled up in a thorn bush but managed to survive. A few scratches on his legs but no worse for wear. He asked me the rest of the day, “Daddy? Who put ‘dose torns dere?” Even with a bum wheel, he managed to play his whole soccer game at 2:00p. Well, that’s partly accurate. While everyone else played soccer—kicking the ball and whatnot—Emerson was a shark. Quite literally. Arms spread straight out by his sides, running in a zigzag pattern, he swam by us on the sidelines with deadly stealth and exclaimed, “Hey Guys! I’m a shark!” When he wasn’t a shark, he stood inside one of the goals, with his head stuck through the netting making the most retarded faces at nothing in particular. I saw some poor sot behind the goal with a camera trying to help out by giving Em an exaggerated (albeit unenthused) thumbs-up sign and then looking away awkwardly. I mean, really, what the fuck do you do? I do love that Boy so.
Yesterday, the two of us went to the Caboose Park. He lucked up by finding the kids who live behind us. The two girls are older (8 and 10?) and are so nice to him. They were there as part of a soccer party but were kind enough to include Em in their running and playing. It was truly a delight watching my three-year-old lead a pack of ten kids in a perfect line over obstacles and mazes, through jumps, and up ladders and down slides. It looks as though he may end up with his mother’s leadership skills. Let us hope. Although exhausted, he wanted to argue all the way home that he wasn’t tired and didn’t need a nap. He was so very alert, in fact, that once I finally convinced him that he had to use the bathroom, he staggered over to the shower, pushed back the curtain, and started to undo his pants. I stood looking at him while he yellmuttered, “I’m not tired!” Pause. “Don’t pee in my shower, Boy,” I said. The surprised look, slow recognition, and beautiful sheepish grin that followed made my entire weekend.
So, we’ll see what this week brings. Rental cars, and clutches, and another soccer game. The regular grind of the grind I suppose. And like every week prior, I’m sure to find potholes and gems alike. It has already started well. I mean who else can boast of a young son with natural leadership ability who thinks he is a shark and pees in the shower—from the outside? I’m a lucky man.
posted by Ryan at 3:59 PM
1 Comments:
thinks he is a shark and pees in the shower - He's a chip off the ole block, Ry
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