Editor’s note: This column originally was published Sept. 25, 2012.
Everybody with kids loves to talk about them, and I’m no exception. What differentiates me from the herd is my desire to only open my yapper about the little Tax Deductions if they’ve done something worthy of a conversation.
I haven’t spent more than 10 minutes at a party since ever, but even in that short space of time, you can find at least seven conversations peppered with some of the most mind numbing kiddie talk this side of a pilled-up Kathie Lee Gifford:
“Well, Chrysanthemum is 4 months old and she’s already figured out how to fill up her diaper. We were skeptical about hiring a tutor, but it paid off in the end.”
“Here’s a picture of Manzano staring blankly into the distance.”
“Florian is so advanced for his age; he’s drooling on his own now.”
There is some notable news in the Tax Deduction Department at Dawson Manor. Tax Deduction No. 1 is now in the second grade. When her teachers found out who her father was, they offered to skip her on up to the third grade.
We weren’t sure about letting her skip a grade, especially when her prospective third-grade teacher read the first 700 pages of the school’s file on her father and immediately signed up for a teaching exchange program in Afghanistan.
TD No. 1 also is taking piano lessons, has started her first job as a floor/furniture maintenance specialist (vacuuming and dusting), and now has her own Netflix account.
The impetus for giving TD No. 1 a Netflix account was twofold: First, she’d have to use the $2/week she earns from doing housework to pay the $8/month Netflix fee, thus teaching her the value of money; second, it means I won’t have to wait another week to get season three of “Justified” through my account because TD No. 1 wants to rent “Barbie: The Mermaid and Sardine Salesman.”
Tax Deduction No. 2 is growing like the wildebeest-camouflaging weeds on either side of U.S. 70. She’s now in pre-school three days per week from 9 a.m. to noon. We believe being in a daycare nine hours per week will help TD No. 2 learn to interact with other children.
Also, nine hours is plenty of time for The Wife to get estimates on the damage TD No. 2 inflicted on the house during the previous week. Even the painters that come over every month have noticed how quickly TD No. 2 is growing.
“Just a few weeks ago we were having to bend down to our knees to paint over the gang signs TD NO. 2 was spray-painting in the hallway,” said Keith Emerson of ELP Painters. “She’s gotten so tall we can just hold the roller at about waist level and start running laps.”
Last week while The Wife took TD No. 1 to her piano lesson, I took TD No. 2 to the Dollar Store to get some early Christmas shopping done. As we perused the coloring book section, TD No. 2 called out what she saw — “FISH!” “DOG!” “ELMO!”
As we made our way to the battery aisle, we crossed paths with a tall man with long brown hair and a beard. He was wearing a white linen shirt and sandals. Without missing a beat, TD No. 2 pointed at the man and yelled, “JESUS!”
I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced a 2-year-old in full rapture mode, but it’s a site to behold. If she pointed and yelled “JESUS!” once, she yelled it 20 times. While yelling it, she was jumping up and down in the shopping cart like a lone piece of popcorn in a well oiled and heated pot. After I peeled TD No. 2 off the ceiling, I walked over to the long-haired gentleman to make sure everything was OK.
As it turns out, the long-haired/bearded/sandal-wearing man is the lead singer of a Christian-themed Def Leppard cover band called Def Leper.
“I love Jesus and I like rock music, so touring with Def Leper seemed like a good way to spread the word,” said Christian rocker Pete Willis. “Our songs include ‘Pour Salvation on Me,’ ‘Billy’s Got a Bible,’ ‘Samaria,’ ‘Capernaum It’ and, of course, ‘Rock of Ages’.”
Later that night, TD No. 2 was having trouble getting to sleep, so I camped out on the floor next to her crib and held her hand. For a few minutes this worked, then she took my hand and placed it under her right cheek and dosed off.
Not wanting to wake her up, I stayed on the floor with my hand cradling her right cheek. Whenever I’d try to ease my hand out of the crib, TD No. 2 would start muttering about pancakes and ammunition in her sleep, so I’d lay back down on the floor in defeat.
After about 10 minutes of this, my left arm went to sleep; after 30 minutes, the rigor mortis had worked its way up to my elbow. Eventually I escaped and, after wrapping my arm in some Saran Wrap and putting it in the freezer, TD No. 1 decided to have a coughing fit — which in turn woke up TD No. 2.
I go back to TD No. 2’s room and lay on the floor next to the crib. Now she’s decided to jettison everything from her crib: Dolls, toys, books and lighters. After everything seemed to be out of the crib, TD No. 2 lay down and appeared to be going to sleep.
Eventually, I dosed off and woke up about a hundredth of a second before a large, hardback edition of “Where the Wild Things Are” flew out of the crib and struck me in an area described by Charles H. Baker as the Gentleman’s Companion. I could see it happening, but the fear of what was about to happen caused my entire body to freeze up.
To my credit, I made it to the front porch before the crying/cursing/more crying started. I eventually recovered, and it’s now much easier to sing along to the Bee Gees’ “New York Mining Disaster 1941.”
Jon Dawson’s columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. Contact Jon at 252-559-1092 or jon.dawson@kinston.com. Purchase Jon’s book ‘Making Gravy in Public’ at the Free Press office or at jondawson.com.