Month: April 2007

I don’t know if you noticed, but the world ended today, at about 2:13 PM MDT. At least that’s what Hayden seemed to think.

I didn’t want him to play with the new filter for our vent, so I took it from him and put it somewhere he couldn’t get it.

Oh, but he could get it. And he did, of course. Screaming all the while, of course.

So I tried again, and this time I took him into another room. He screamed in even more frustration. Not even some of his favorite toys could deter him from his beloved filter. He turned and made it about six feet before the utter desolation of life without vent filters hit him.

He stopped where he was, howling a perverbal baby curse at the top of his lungs. He tilted his head back for maximum volume, demonstrating the full extent of his anguish.

He couldn’t go on, not even the twenty feet that would take him back to his one and only filter. Oh, the tragedy—the humanity! Hayden sank to his knees, ruing the day that he was born to such a woman that would deprive him of his filter. Such a woman! He flung himself prostrate upon the ground. Let it end. Let it end now.

I went to get the camera. I didn’t get any pictures of Hayden’s entry for the dramatic category “child of cruelest parents,” though. He’d rolled over by the time I got back to him. I picked him up and realized he was poopy. Though a diaper change is frequently enough to end the world, we all made it.

We’re sorry for the disruption in your [the world]. We hope that you resumed regular service soon and were not too inconvenienced. We also hope that [the world] doesn’t [end] too often, as that would make life very difficult around here.

Some days (y’know, the ones where I get dressed) I wish I had a photographer to follow me around to capture the tiny moments that compose my life. Or at least a tripod.

Today wasn’t going to be one of those days. I slept in, got dressed in slouchy clothes to do a little (very little) yoga, and happened to check my e-mail. There was an e-mail telling me my old coworkers were getting together for lunch today. I decided that if I could get ready in time, I’d go.

I did. After Hayden and I got home, it was so nice outside that we went to sit on our patio swing in the back yard. Hayden has always loved swinging there.

Being the little independent fella he is, it wasn’t long before he squirmed off my lap to sit on the swing by himself. He sat with his back against me, sometimes leaning his head back to rest on my chest. I don’t know what he was looking at—the wind chimes, maybe—but it wasn’t me. I looked down at him, his chubby little legs, his sticky hands, his wispy blondish hair—and he stared out at the bright world.

If I could have a picture of that moment, I would display it here and proclaim: this photo is our relationship (sometimes). I try to connect with him, but sometimes Hayden is just so absorbed in what he’s doing or playing with that there isn’t really room for me.

But I’m always there, supporting him, framing the environment of his play.

As I wished someone were there to take a picture to capture how distant I feel my son is sometimes, Hayden turned around and buried his face in my lap. He struggled to crawl into my lap, so I gathered him up and gave him a hug. Then I let him go play.