Friday, February 28, 2014
The Daddy-Daughter Dance at Paige's school is pretty much the best night of the year.
Once again, I had the prettiest date at the ball. But this time she expected more out of me.
About 30 seconds into the first song, Paige grew bored of my step-step-clap dance moves. She looked up at me and said, "is that all you're going to do?"
I'm pretty sure she wanted me to be throwing her around like a swing dancer, but luckily she settled for the next best thing. I'd do a sweet move -- like throwing my hands in the air or doing some sweet robot marching -- and she'd follow right along. I'm sure we were quite the sight to behold.
Other than pausing for a bit of cake and having our picture taken, we spent 90 straight minutes dancing. We did the Cupid Shuffle and the Hokey Pokey and the Cha Cha Slide. We sang along with Miley and T-Swift and all those girls who may or may not be Demi Lovato. And we slow danced to My Girl. We had a wonderful time.
It's good to be a daddy of a daughter.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
A random collection of recent kid things:
> While trying to get him dressed, I say, "Tate, do you know who loves you? Me."
"No!" he shouts before smacking me in the face. "I love YOU!" Such loving anger.
> Tate pretty much runs this house. Whenever he's playing or distracted, I try to sneak away and have some quiet time. But the second he realizes I'm gone, he'll track me down, wherever I'm hiding. If I'm in my room watching TV, he'll barge in and demand that I change the station to something he wants to watch. Lately, however, he's been allowing me some concessions...kind of. Sometimes he'll say things like, "Dad, I want to watch the Jazz." This would be nice if it were ever when the Jazz were playing. I'll respond, "That's nice, buddy, but it's 8:00 in the morning." Or he'll say, "I want to watch the Broncos." "Sorry, buddy, the Broncos don't play again until August." These responses are never good enough. "I want to watch the Broncos. RIGHT NOW!" I just can't win.
> Speaking of TV, here's another common trick of Tate's. I'll be lying on the bed, watching TV. He'll put a pillow on my head, sit on the pillow, and then declare triumphantly, "Dad, you can't see your show!"
My birthday is tomorrow. A couple of days ago, out of the blue, Curtis ran upstairs and into his bedroom. When he came back, he said, "Here, Dad. It's an early birthday present." He dropped 47 cents into my palm and then ran off again.
Paige and I have been watching the Olympics together the past few nights. Thanks to her patriotism and steel-trap memory, she delivers comments like, "Come on Shiffrin, you need to defend your title" and "I'm so excited that Maddie Bowman won the first-ever gold in women's ski halfpipe." Sure you are, Paige. Sure you are.