There Is Only One Leonardo da Vinci...

...and you're not him.

I said this to my son today.  See, he's very smart.  Unusually smart, if I do say so myself.  But he's lazy as the day is long.  He'd rather sketch a few ideas, jot some notes, and wait four or five hundred years for someone else to come along and actually produce anything worthwhile.

Unfortunately, brilliant inventors who do nothing are probably a dime a dozen.  I often wonder how on earth Leonardo actually became famous.  Surely it was because of his art.  But my son is not artistic.  And there aren't many rich aristocrats looking for starving artists to sponsor these days, anyway.

Nope.  He's just going to have to learn to work, like the rest of us.

Poor guy.

Impatient

I did a little gardening today.  Been trying to spruce up the front flower beds.  I'm not a garden artist; I plant and hope for the best.

My front flower bed needed a little border around it (and the bed on the other side of the door needed a pick-me-up), so I added some impatiens.  Meaning no offense to any gardener who might be reading, planting impatiens feels, to me, like serving TV dinners.  I bought them ready-made, dug a hole, and called them mine.

We had a little garden in our back yard when I was growing up.  It was about 20 x 10 feet, and each of the four of us had a section to plant.  We grew vegetables - tomatoes, corn, carrots, and a little lettuce.  There was also the famous Radish Year, which was the year we each planted a gazillion radishes, then realized we all hated them.  My father, who grew up during the Great Depression and couldn't bear to waste food, ate radishes at every meal and then some.  Gardening, when I was a kid, was about digging, planting seeds, nurturing tiny seedlings, and a long, work-heavy process before fresh veggies were served for dinner.

I planted my impatiens and considered how life has changed.  I've always dreamed of raising vegetables and flowers from seeds with my kids.  We've tried a number of times, but have never been successful.  The poison of neglect always kills any chance of a crop.  The one exception has been cherry tomatoes, and those were grown from plants purchased at a store.  To be honest, I lack the wherewithall to prepare peat pots, care for tiny seedlings, turn the soil, plant, water, weed, and stake.  It's a faster-paced life, at least for me, and I lack the determination to slow it down enough to watch the plants grow.

I'm glad for my impatiens, but sorry for my impatience.

I Want To Be A Dad

It was raining when I picked up my daughter from school this afternoon.  Her high school shares its building with a Head Start program.  We arrived early, just as many of the Head Start kids were dismissed.  One by one, big burly fathers appeared at the door.  From my observations, dads don't talk much.  They come, pick up their kids, and go.  One carried an adorable pink backpack and raced his little girl through the rain.  Her ruffled coat flapped open as she ran to the car, where he opened her door for her and tossed the pack onto the seat.  Another dad stomped through the rain while sharing an umbrella with his son, who took no notice of the umbrella at all.  He was all about the puddles.

A few moms came, too.  The scenes look very different when a mom leaves the building.  She's got her son's hand firmly gripped in her own - safety first, you know.  Her child carries his own backpack and his coat is safely zipped up to his throat.  She looks busy and purposeful, as does the child she escorts.  She has a lot to say as they walk: Did you eat all your lunch?  Do you have your homework in your bag?  Don't get your shoes wet!

At our home, Mom oversees schoolwork and chores.  Bedtime and wake time are regulated by Mom, as well.  Dad is in charge of entertaining the kids while dinner is being made and cleaned up.  While this job is primarily focused on the Toddler, his influence quickly spills over to the Tween and Teen, as well.  Dad is the Wii master, the about-to-be-defeated Undefeated Wrestling Champion, the silly-voiced narrator.  When Mom announces bedtime, three voices rise in dissent:  Teen's, Tween's, and Dad's.  I don't complain about the lack of help in the kitchen.  Dad has a very stressful job and needs the evening to detox and regroup.  I enjoy training the kids and running the home (to an extent).  But I envy the liberty.  It would be nice to be seen as the playful parent, and not the insistent one, now and then.

Every once in a while, I'd like to be the dad.

The Bear Truth

Tween has a bear.

Booxie has been Tween's companion since he was one and a half.  Booxie is an every-night bear, a find-him-if-he's-missing-no-matter-what bear.  They've been together through thick and thin: secret midnight conferences, under-table "club" meetings, hospitalizations, vacations.  Naturally Tween wanted to share his honored friend with Toddler.  He hoped that his little sister would esteem Booxie with the same reverence that Tween had.  Accordingly, one evening after dinner he cautiously introduced them.

Toddler's response was not quite what Tween expected.  First she drooled on Booxie - drooled!  Imagine the indignation!  Then she ran around the living room, carrying Booxie by his tie like the lump of stuffing he was before he met Tween.  The more Tween chased Toddler to rescue Booxie, the faster Toddler ran (you knew that, of course).  She gave Booxie slobbery kisses, hugged him downside-up, sat on him, tossed him carelessly about.  Tween was outraged.

He gave her Booxie again the next night.

At this point, he says he will not give Booxie to Toddler completely.  After all, Booxie is a very special part of Tween.  Booxie still has confidante duties to fulfill.  You don't hand over your best friend of many years just because someone cute and needy comes along.  And yet, Tween offers Booxie again and again.  It's as if he wants her to love Booxie, but at the same time is afraid she will.

Booxie

It's been an interesting exchange to watch - this giving and pulling back.  It must be hard to hand one so loved over to someone of undetermined character, who might devalue, or even damage, the one loved.  

I think I understand how Tween feels.  I feel the same way, in fact, about my Teen as she grows and weans herself of our home.  I want all the world to love her, yet I'm afraid they will.  A giving and a pulling back, for sure.