Summer Breeze

Is this part of getting old..er?

First I find out that I can't flex my feet or point my toes without catching a cramp. Oh brother.

Now I have a stiff clavical (muscle in-between my neck and shoulder) muscle that all of a sudden occurred after leaning in the doorway, talking to Zee's preschool teacher this morning. It went away (after I took two Advil and did a million shoulder rolls) and now it's back. What da hell?

Of course, I'm convinced that it's meningitis. But I won't tell anyone that. (I did a symptom checker, and though I have none of the other symptoms, what else could it be?)

So I'm Not "The Fun One"

I'm not the fun parent. Shock resonates on my little guy's face when I agree to take part in a sword fight, or a light saber duel, or a wrestling match on the floor. Don't get me wrong. We have fun. It's just typically more mentally stimulating. Uno, coloring, a rousing game of Chutes & Ladders -- that's more my cup of tea. Sometimes it bothers me, and I'll try to be more of the 5 year old boy brand of fun -- but it's so tiring. Alas. *places back of hand against forehead*

The other day, however, I got the confirmation that, as parents, we each have a role. "What's your favorite thing about school," I asked Zee. "When Ms. B-- gives us work[sheets]." He's loving the hidden pictures right about now. (Boy after my own heart.) Continuing that line of questioning, I asked, "What's your favorite thing at your dad's house?" "Playing my Nintendo, going swimming and going to the lake."

Enjoying the free flow of information, I ask one more question, "And what's your favorite thing at Mommy's house?"

"Hugs."

"Hugs?" I repeat, for clarification.

"Yes, hugs." He repeats matter o'factly.

The questioning stops. I am stunned and humbled. Such a simple thing. I want to thank him, but it would make no sense to him, so I thank him silently. Hugs.

I'm not the fun one. And that's okay.