It's an all man weekend over here at the Spiegelhoff household. The lady of the house ventured out all the way to the deserts of the southwest landing in Phoenix last night well past her bedtime at 10:30 EST for a little girl getaway. That leaves proud papa to take care of junior and the Luckster all the way through Monday morning. Hopefully the cops don't get called.
Our wonderful son has entered a new stage and I'm affectionately referring to it as tantrum stage. It's quite unpleasant. It works like this. We are all enjoying ourselves. My happy go lucky son, myself and loyal pooch are outside enjoying a sunshine filled day blowing bubbles, America's second favorite past time when the dinner bell rings. I feel it's my fatherly duty to feed both man's best friend and my son. Well, we went from cheers to jeers as Quinny lost it. The screams!The howls! The bloody murder wails! I was extremely concerned some neighbor was going to come flying out of their house wondering who was slaughtering their child. I dropped everything and grabbed my flailing about supposedly human child and quite literally dragged him into the house kicking and screaming the whole way. I then set him down where he put on a 15 minute plus display of the same.
He then moved on to take his frustration out on dinner. Plate of peas. Dumped over the side. Ahoy matey! I take a peek from the kitchen where I am toiling away for grateful son and dodge the spoon that gets chucked right behind the peas and left of my temple. Okay, let's move on to a delicious pasta dish. First the tomato gets chucked at me and then the bow tie pasta assault begins. Okay, not feeling the pasta - got it. Here is some milk. You have to want to drink some milk right? It was like a moment in prohibition as the milk was unceremoniously dumped. Obviously, Quinny doesn't know how much whole organic milk costs. Don't worry it's coming out of his college tuition money.
So, not thirsty. Okay, I am running out of food groups here. I am slowly learning so instead of providing more ammunition I simply ask if he wants a strawberry. He replies with an emphatic no complete with head shake. Okay, I say and begin eating some strawberries. I put one on his plate. He eats it. Another, he eats it. Another and he eats it. It's at this point I lose my mind and give him 3 at a time. Clearly, I am a slow learner. I get pegged with all three. That's it! I've had it! We're done! My wife probably hasn't even flown out of the state yet and I find myself wishing for a wife inside and me outside with frosty adult beverage in hand thinking about how lucky I am to have a wife inside tending to the tantrum throwing beast she would be locked inside with. But no, this is not the case. I need to muster the courage to play inspired defense to dodge the never ending missles while motivating myself to turn Mr. Crabby Pants' attitude around.
The hockey Badgers are in the frozen four and if they win they make the national championship. I would like to watch a bit of it. I turn it on and sit on the floor praying to anyone that will listen to have him join me and play on the floor. Instead he wants to open up the entertainment center and play with the receiver. Of course. No, no please change the channel. But at the last second he grabs his children song CD and hands it to me. Dear Lord, thank you. Really? This is what you want to listen to? Yup, he nods. Done. So there we are listening to Mary had a little lamb on a constant loop while watching the flat screen and the hockey Badgers stick it to RIT 8-1, 3 feet away from the screen dancing - together. Sports, the common denominator for men of any age as long as you have the right soundtrack. I am so armed with sport packages and children orientated music for tonight that it's going to be one interesting scene. I have tantrumfied the living room - I hope. Man, boy and beast together as one in unity forever. Long live men. Wish me luck as I continue through the bonding!
Our wonderful son has entered a new stage and I'm affectionately referring to it as tantrum stage. It's quite unpleasant. It works like this. We are all enjoying ourselves. My happy go lucky son, myself and loyal pooch are outside enjoying a sunshine filled day blowing bubbles, America's second favorite past time when the dinner bell rings. I feel it's my fatherly duty to feed both man's best friend and my son. Well, we went from cheers to jeers as Quinny lost it. The screams!The howls! The bloody murder wails! I was extremely concerned some neighbor was going to come flying out of their house wondering who was slaughtering their child. I dropped everything and grabbed my flailing about supposedly human child and quite literally dragged him into the house kicking and screaming the whole way. I then set him down where he put on a 15 minute plus display of the same.
He then moved on to take his frustration out on dinner. Plate of peas. Dumped over the side. Ahoy matey! I take a peek from the kitchen where I am toiling away for grateful son and dodge the spoon that gets chucked right behind the peas and left of my temple. Okay, let's move on to a delicious pasta dish. First the tomato gets chucked at me and then the bow tie pasta assault begins. Okay, not feeling the pasta - got it. Here is some milk. You have to want to drink some milk right? It was like a moment in prohibition as the milk was unceremoniously dumped. Obviously, Quinny doesn't know how much whole organic milk costs. Don't worry it's coming out of his college tuition money.
So, not thirsty. Okay, I am running out of food groups here. I am slowly learning so instead of providing more ammunition I simply ask if he wants a strawberry. He replies with an emphatic no complete with head shake. Okay, I say and begin eating some strawberries. I put one on his plate. He eats it. Another, he eats it. Another and he eats it. It's at this point I lose my mind and give him 3 at a time. Clearly, I am a slow learner. I get pegged with all three. That's it! I've had it! We're done! My wife probably hasn't even flown out of the state yet and I find myself wishing for a wife inside and me outside with frosty adult beverage in hand thinking about how lucky I am to have a wife inside tending to the tantrum throwing beast she would be locked inside with. But no, this is not the case. I need to muster the courage to play inspired defense to dodge the never ending missles while motivating myself to turn Mr. Crabby Pants' attitude around.
The hockey Badgers are in the frozen four and if they win they make the national championship. I would like to watch a bit of it. I turn it on and sit on the floor praying to anyone that will listen to have him join me and play on the floor. Instead he wants to open up the entertainment center and play with the receiver. Of course. No, no please change the channel. But at the last second he grabs his children song CD and hands it to me. Dear Lord, thank you. Really? This is what you want to listen to? Yup, he nods. Done. So there we are listening to Mary had a little lamb on a constant loop while watching the flat screen and the hockey Badgers stick it to RIT 8-1, 3 feet away from the screen dancing - together. Sports, the common denominator for men of any age as long as you have the right soundtrack. I am so armed with sport packages and children orientated music for tonight that it's going to be one interesting scene. I have tantrumfied the living room - I hope. Man, boy and beast together as one in unity forever. Long live men. Wish me luck as I continue through the bonding!
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