Ikea Man

There’s a scene in the new Avenger’s movie when Bruce Banner is transforming into the giant green rage monster, the Hulk.  At one point, he’s getting all Hulk-y, he looks at one of the main characters with pleading eyes that seem to say, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to become a real jerk in about two seconds and break a bunch of stuff.”

That’s the look I gave Diana when she suggested going to Ikea on Saturday.

I will pat myself on the back and say I made it all the way through the store and back without losing my temper.  Mostly.  I did yell at the boys a few times.  But that was a mere warm up.

But the moment I got home and looked across the literally hundreds of pieces that comprised the two dressers that would eventually go in the boy’s room, I became the worst version of myself.  Complete with shredded purple pants.

I yelled.  Oh, how I yelled.  “Get out of here!  Leave Dada alone!  Don’t touch that!  Stop touching that!”

At one point, when Elijah was removing vital pieces of plywood from my work area, I seethed, “Eli, I am going to beat you.”

He responded, “Why are you going to meet me?  Meet me where?”

In my rage haze, I recall Eli’s friend Lincoln coming over to play.  He and Luca and Eli were playing swords.  For no other reason than Hulk-ness, I snatched the swords out of the boys’ hands and put them out of reach.  I could tell by Lincoln’s expression that I had dropped to last on his cool dad list.  I tried to mend that fence later by asking him about his shoes that lit up.  He simply ran away.

There was another incident where I constructed a drawer that didn’t quite fit and was all wonky and completely needed to be redone.  I screamed at the top of my lungs a swear that was both complex and offensive.  The boys just laughed. 

Eventually, I did finish the project.  But not until after seriously damaging my closest personal relationships.

I would like to formally apologize to Diana, Elijah, Luca and the good people of Sweden.  No.  Strike that.  People of Sweden?  I’m still mad at you.

First Homework

Do you remember your first homework assignment?  I sure as heck don’t.  As much as this blog is a document to portray myself in a completely fictionalized version of a dotting father, it also serves to give Elijah and Luca a trip down memory lane years from now.  Long after whatever futuristic zombie juice they’re into has erased their brains. 

Last night, as Diana was getting the boys ready for bed, she remembered the Elijah had been given a homework assignment to complete over the weekend.

“Is this the kind of thing they taught you at Berkeley?  To wait until the last second to do your homework?”  I said.

“Maybe you’d like to discuss the quality of my education compared to, where did you go?  The Illinois State Institute of Dishwasher Repair and Advertising?”

Turns out Eli’s assignment was to read a book called “Good Night Gorilla.”  It is actually a neat little book where a gorilla steals a zookeeper’s keys are releases the inhabitants of a zoo, who choose to act cute and cuddly rather than eat each other and eventually get put down by the local authorities.  He read the whole thing aloud without any help.  I did not burst into tears.  Nope.  Not at all.

Eli then had to draw a picture interpreting the book.  He sat down at his little drawing table and crayoned a pretty great scene of the gorilla stealing the keys.  Complete with a bunch of bananas and a tire swing.

It took every ounce of will I had not to shove him aside and do his homework for him. My need for him to be happy and healthy and successful is chemical.  Obsessive.  My every instinct is wrong headed and destructive. 

Luckily, I chose to lie on the floor at his feet, biting his “Goodnight Gorilla” book like a horse bit.  I may have done a little bit of over praising and telling him how much of a genius he is, but let’s focus on the positive here.

Speaking of genius, Diana read him a book by the author David Shannon, who wrote one of Eli’s favorite books, “No No David.” 

Eli read the cover and said, “Hey!  David Shannon!  He wrote ‘No No David.”

He will not be attending The Illinois State Institute of Dishwasher Repair and Advertising.

No, I don’t have a photo of the drawing.  But I do have evidence of two of the WORST haircuts my sons have ever received.  Whooboy.  Whoever from Kidsnips got to these guys was not in a good place, mentally.

Read

This whole reading business started a long time ago.  When Elijah was in pre-school.  I was sitting in our bed, reading stories to him and Luca when Diana suggested he read to ME.

Yeah, right.  Eli produced a hand made, hand colored book filled with preprinted drawings of a bird and worms and stuff.

He began to read, “It is spring.  Mommy bird sees a stick.  Mommy bird sees a tree.  Mommy bird builds a nest.  Mommy bird sits on the eggs.  The eggs hatch.  Mommy bird sees a worm.  Mommy bird feeds the babies.”

I immediately declared it a hoax.  There is no way this child could read.  He was clearly just using the pictures as a guide. 

Denial is my very best friend.  Because when they learn things, which means they are growing.  Which means they are growing up.  Which means they will eventually leave me.  And that is not something I can stomach.

Slowly but surely, I’ve come to the realization that my son can, in fact, read.  He calls out stop signs on the road.  He reads ahead in most of his children’s books.  Can pick out which sugar cereal we won’t purchase for him at Jewel.  

His school sent home a big poster of the alphabet and words that he loves to read from.  You know, A is for apple, B is for Braunschweiger.  He isn’t exactly plowing through The Odyssey, but he is definitely combining letters to form words.  

I’d put his reading ability at “Slack-Jawed Yokel” level.

p.s.  Today’s photo is with my pal Patrick’s son JB.  Go get ‘em, JB!

Cool Dad

When we were little, one of our best buddies had a dad that would be considered “cool.”  He swore.  He took us on fishing trips.  He didn’t trouble us with rules or discipline and had more than a working knowledge of Star Wars trivia.  We idolized him.  From what I’ve heard, over the years he’s descended into drug and alcohol addiction. 

And yet, I still have this intense desire to be known as the cool dad to Elijah’s friends.

The other night, Eli’s pal Charlie came over and they were playing with Star Wars guns.  As he ran to and fro, I tried to get my claws into him. 

“Hey man!  Hey!  Do you like Star Wars?  Do you want to know how many times I’ve seen Star Wars?  How high can you count?”

He ignored he in that special way five year olds can ignore you: completely.

I found myself getting more and more desperate for Charlie’s favor.  I quickly counted the dollars in my pocket.  Finding none, I opted for a more boy approach.

“Charlie, come here.  Lemmie see that gun.”

Charlie handed it over and I immediately shot (pretend) him.

“You just learned the first rule of Blasters.  Never give up your Blaster.”

Charlie looked at me with awe.  I got him.  Diana looked at me like a woman who once swore there would never be toy guns in out house.

I handed Charlie back the gun.  “Oh wait, Charlie.  I forgot to show you something on this gun.  Let me see it.”

Charlie handed me the gun and I shot him.

“What’s the first rule of Blasters?”

I began to take on mythical status in Charlie’s eyes.  I could also tell I had impressed Eli as well.  I may just have this cool dad thing down.

Eli said, “Hey Charlie.  Let me have your Blaster.”

Charlie refused.  Fool Charlie once, shame on Charlie.  Eventually the spell was broken and I went back to just being another tall person Charlie could ignore.

I calculated how many years I’d have to wait before I could swear in front of them.

Forest

Yesterday morning, I was jockeying for position between Elijah and Luca on the couch while they fiercely argued about what to watch in their second straight hour of TV.  Power Rangers.  My Little Pony.  Power Rangers.  My Little Pony.  POWER RANGERS! MY LITTLE PONY!

I sprang up from the couch and declared, “Get your clothes on.  We’re going outside.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.  The zoo.  The nature center.  Just get your clothes on.  We’ll find something to do.”

After threatening Elijah that I would personally move his cousins to Utah at great expense if he didn’t get his shoes on, we piled into the car.  I turned the car west with the vague idea of visiting the nature museum in Northbrook.  Where they have the one eyed owl and that sad fox in the cage.

Eventually, I realized we missed the turn to the one eyed owl’s habitat and we were just passing Dunkin Donuts after Dunkin Donuts.

Suddenly, we passed a red sign that read, “Blah Blah Blah Forest Preserve.”  A-Ha!  A forest!  I swung the car into the parking lot and we climbed out. 

The forest preserve’s main purpose was a bike path.  A paved, two lane path carved into fairly picturesque timberland.  We watched peloton after peloton whiz by on their carbon fiber investments.  I thought, “This will not end well.”

But out of the corner of my eye I spotted a little footpath.  I waited for a break in the action and we ran for it.

The path was gorgeous.  Quiet.  Cool.  With dollops of sunlight above and, oddly, giant piles of horse manure below.  Elijah took great pains to leap over them.  Luca, on the other hand, tromped right through.  Thank goodness for his red fireman boots.

After a hundred yards of me shouting, “Isn’t this beautiful?”  We came across a little footbridge over a creek.  We scrambled down to the water’s edge and I gave a clinic in stone skipping. 

Elijah, for three glorious minutes, completely forgot about My Little Pony and began to understand the joy of standing in stinking mud while urinating into creek water.

Luca was soon covered in mud and, presumably, horse manure.  He threw stick after stick into the water like a little beaver. 

The spell was broken soon enough when both boys realized I had not brought along water bottles.  Suddenly, they both became desperate for hydration and we walked back to the car.  Where they fought over Eli’s handheld video game.