Like Father, Like Son

Luke has really been into scratching himself in that place that all guys seem to like scratching themselves. Well, I learned long ago that Kelly HHHHHHHHHhaaates that, so I keep that as an after hours activity (as in, after Kelly has retired for the evening) or just don't do it at all. Well.. Luke is young and hasn't learned his mothers' disdain for this activity... and just does it all the time. Seriously... all the time... it's like he has some jock itch form of Tourette's.

And, my theory is to just tell him to stop... I mean... you don't want to scare him and tell him it's going to fall off if he keeps it up or anything along those lines.... Eventually, he'll just stop... there's only about 10% of the male population that continues this scratching practice in public through adulthood (you know who I'm talking about.... the salesman that comes into your office that grabs his junk obsessively as if it's some kind of nervous tick.... err... at least you hope it's a nervous tick)...

So, tonight when we're putting them to bed, he rips off his clothes and immediately starts scratching himself... well... you know... there. Anyway... Kelly is just exasperated and says: "Luke! Stop scratching your penis! Unless you are in the bathroom... DON'T DO IT!" Now, I'm not sure why it's allowed in the bathroom and not elsewhere... you'll have to ask Kelly about that one... I'm just reporting on the facts here...

So, being the well-behaved boy that he is, he stops and simply says: "OK, Mommy" and gets ready to read his bedtime story.

Kelly then begins reading to Reagan and Luke a story in the hallway (just outside of their rooms).

In the middle of one of the stories, Luke stops Kelly and says: "Mommy... can you pause the story... I need to go to the bathroom to scratch my penis."

Ahh... so proud... we're raising such a well-behaved (and very literal) young man! (And... for the record...I'm dreading the google hits that this story is going to get)

Reagan's First Day of Kindergarten

Hmmm.... not real sure where to start. Today was Reagan's first day of Kindergarten. Naturally, this meant that this morning was a big hot mess complete with lots of tears. Kelly was... how can I put this... well, a basket case (no worries...much like the peasant who was turned into a newt in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, she "got better"). Luke was not happy at all and was crying because he did not want his sister to go to school (Reagan and Luke have a very unique and sweet bond). And Will cries whenever Reagan or Luke cries (for real cries). So, the only members of the Faircloth family handling the situation like men were me and Reagan. Now, don't get me wrong... I felt a range of emotions and was worried/happy/sad/proud of my little girl... whatever you want to call it. I don't think the English language has a word that encompasses what that emotion is. But whatever it's called... I was dealing with it. But the difference between Kelly (as a woman) and me (as a guy) is that I have the unique ability to not indulge those emotions to the point of tears flowing from my eyes.

So...Girls/Ladies of the world...there's a takeaway to this story...and it's how to properly deal with times like these... and, it's real simple to do. You take any emotion you're feeling. Any pain... any concern... or any worry... and you package it up in this nice virtual ball... and then you punt it as far away as you can. That way, you never have to deal with it. And, let me tell you... it works. You should try it sometime.

Now, on a serious note... If I can, for just a brief moment, retrieve that package that I've punted to the far corners of my brain... I worry about her. I want her to make friends. I worry about kids being mean to her. I want her to do well at school. I worry about what she'll learn. I want her to use the gluesticks properly and not eat the paste (or rub it on her face like Mrs. Lippy in Billy Madison)....anyway... you get the idea. So many things to worry about that threaten to make me prematurely grey.... So, I'm just not going to sweat it... I'm going back to punting.