Don't Forget to Read
Yesterday was AJ's 8th birthday. I got him a skateboard, which, in turn, got me a higher health insurance premium, less for potential injuries to him, than for the anxiety it's sure to cause me when he starts doing Ollies and Indys.
I got you something, too. The resurrection of Don't Forget to Flush.
You may not have noticed my TGOD about that precocious son of mine (and my struggles against certain douchebags) went away. That's okay! It's still a gift. Wrap yourself well.
Offsprung is back under new management and I was asked to contribute more tales of AJ, both the ridiculous and sublime. My first post won't appear until Friday (we're having a staggered start), and it's a re-working of something you have read here, but there are a dozen entertaining voices over there, including some new columns that will focus on movies, step families and pop culture for the kiddies. As always, The Playground is a great clearinghouse for parental information, support and occasional tomfoolery.
I know...you want me. You don't want the rest of that stuff. Fine. Here's a recent account that can tide you over 'til Friday.
AJ plays very patiently and nicely with his 5-year-old cousin, even though she's a little girl in every sense and her mother and I never got along that well growing up. He'll deal with an hour of playing with dolls and she'll reciprocate with some baseball or running around in the backyard. Except all that outdoor rough-housing invariably causes an injury, real or imagined. My mother, of course, can't resist administering compassion, along with band-aids. Lots of band-aids. Last weekend, she was eventually sporting half-a-dozen.
Sometime later, AJ and his cousin were jockeying for water at the refrigerator and she banged her knee on the door. "Ow!" she said.
AJ, lacking the compassion as his grandmother, a humanistic void apparently filled with snark, instantly asked,
"Would you like another band-aid, Princess?"