We want to be everything to our kids, because they are everything to us.
We get so wrapped up in them, which is easy, because (unless we are teenage parents) we (hopefully) are done being so wrapped up in ourselves. And our children are at an age where the whole WORLD is themselves. Nothing has any meaning except in its relationship with the child. (full disclosure: I know absolutely NOTHING about psychology or child development, and am completely talking out of my ass.)
Anyway. We love our kids, and want them to love us like they love Spiderman or Santa. But they don't, because they are *used* to us. We're too real. Also, Santa never puts the ice cream in the fridge, and Spiderman doesn't forget to bring snacks on the long train ride.
Our kids DO love us, deeply and passionately, just for being there.
Jack and Isaac were sitting on either side of me (this is the only way they are safe) playing a game on my iPhone. When Isaac takes his turn, Jack wants to see, so he climbs over the back of the couch and peers over his brother's shoulder. He then clambers back to his side and takes his turn. jack weighs in at a hefty 50 lbs or so these days, so having him walk on my shoulders is unpleasant. "Jack," I ask him more than once, "please walk on the couch, and not me." "Oh, sure dad, sure,sure,sure." (Jack likes to repeat his "sure's" until he's confident I'm going to stop busting his chops. He gets back and forth pretty well once or twice, and then plants his foot squarely on my fresh (and still sore) tattoo, and catapults himself to the other side of the couch. I cry out in pain, and he's quick to assure me it was "an accident." Fair enough.
A few minutes later, he turns to me and says:
"Dad. It wasn't really an accident. It was sort of on purpose."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, I needed a lump to lift myself up, and you were the only lump around."
We get so wrapped up in them, which is easy, because (unless we are teenage parents) we (hopefully) are done being so wrapped up in ourselves. And our children are at an age where the whole WORLD is themselves. Nothing has any meaning except in its relationship with the child. (full disclosure: I know absolutely NOTHING about psychology or child development, and am completely talking out of my ass.)
Anyway. We love our kids, and want them to love us like they love Spiderman or Santa. But they don't, because they are *used* to us. We're too real. Also, Santa never puts the ice cream in the fridge, and Spiderman doesn't forget to bring snacks on the long train ride.
Our kids DO love us, deeply and passionately, just for being there.
Jack and Isaac were sitting on either side of me (this is the only way they are safe) playing a game on my iPhone. When Isaac takes his turn, Jack wants to see, so he climbs over the back of the couch and peers over his brother's shoulder. He then clambers back to his side and takes his turn. jack weighs in at a hefty 50 lbs or so these days, so having him walk on my shoulders is unpleasant. "Jack," I ask him more than once, "please walk on the couch, and not me." "Oh, sure dad, sure,sure,sure." (Jack likes to repeat his "sure's" until he's confident I'm going to stop busting his chops. He gets back and forth pretty well once or twice, and then plants his foot squarely on my fresh (and still sore) tattoo, and catapults himself to the other side of the couch. I cry out in pain, and he's quick to assure me it was "an accident." Fair enough.
A few minutes later, he turns to me and says:
"Dad. It wasn't really an accident. It was sort of on purpose."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, I needed a lump to lift myself up, and you were the only lump around."
another use for Jack's favorite lump.
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