After werk, I was finishing up some shizz and minding my own beeswax when the boy came into the kitchen and he was all, “Dad, what’s for dinner?” And I was all, I haven’t given it much thought since I’ve been, you know, werking all day and stuff. And the boy was all, “As long as it’s not Mexican eats.” And I was all, Probably not.
And the boy was all, “I vote for Vietnamese eats!” And I was all, Probably not. And the boy was all, “You’re just jealous cuz Vietnamese peeps are better than Taiwanese peeps.” And I was all, Yeah, whatevs.
Then I was all, Wait a sec, are you wearing the same shirt as I am!?! And the boy was all, Probably.
For whatever reason, the boy had been resisting reading Harry Potter. Over the summer, tho, busy daddy and I bought the entire Harry Potter series, and the boy recently started reading The Sorcerer’s Stone after school and before bedtime.
My kid said to me, “Dad, we should pretend that your name is Phil and my name is Alex, and we’re having an argument about Harry Potter, and Phil is losing the argument, so then Alex was like whatevs, which made Phil even madder and stuff!!!” And I said, This story would be so much better if we acted it out wearing fake mustaches!!! And the boy said, “Obvs.”
For my entire childhood, I always dreaded Wednesdays cuz Wednesdays were piano lesson days. Did I ever tell you that I hated strongly disliked piano lessons? Like, I even tried to break my hands when I was a kid so that I wouldn’t have to take piano lessons anymore. Probably not the most thought-out plan I ever had.
Even years after I stopped taking piano lessons, I still dreaded Wednesdays. I guess most peeps lurve Wednesdays cuz it’s the middle of the week and stuff, and everything goes downhill from there, but Wednesdays will forever have the stink of piano lessons for me.
Before I had a kid, I promised that if I ever had a kid, I wouldn’t ever force my kid to take music lessons if he didn’t want to. Now that I have a kid, I force encourage him to take violin lessons. Every Wednesday. And every Sunday.
I like to tell myself that I’m giving my son a gift, and that gift is showing him that Wednesdays are a good day to take pics with his future kid wearing fake mustaches. Before music lessons.
So I’m in the airplane lavatory, minding my own beeswax, when the flight attendant gets on the intercom, and she’s all, “Yeah, the captain is, like, sayin’ we’re hittin’ a patch of turbulence and stuff, so maybe y'all wanna sit down and buckle up and/or whatevs.”
And I’m all, Oh no you bettah don’t!!! And then I get tossed around a bit in the airplane lavatory, but not so badly that I couldn’t take a pic to document the situation, obvs.
Yesterday the temperature was in the mid-80s and today it was in the mid-50s. Spring is doin’ a number on my old bones cuz I can’t tell if it’s too hot or too cold. The boy thinks it’s way too hot, so I installed the air conditioner in his bedroom last night. Apparently he likes to sleep in a room that’s set at a nearly frigid 64 degrees. Ugh. Kids.
When the boy’s nanny dropped him off at home after violin lessons this afternoon, she said to me, “Mr. Jarkalooky, your son looks more and more like you every day!” And the boy said, “But I’m not fat like dad is, though!”
And I said, I think you mean you’re not phat like I am. And the boy said, “That’s what I said!” And I said, I said phat like p-h-a-t. And the boy said, “There’s another way to spell fat?” And I said, Well, I’m the p-h, awesome kinda phat, yo. And the boy said, “You’re just jealous cuz I’m phatter than you!”
And the boy’s nanny said, “You two are like the same person.”