Friday, October 19, 2012

My Running Partner, Offshore Tax Havens, and Locomotion 101

Part I.
So I run a little bit.  Nothing crazy.  What?  No, I certainly will not call it jogging.  Jogging is when you enjoy it.

There's no time for long runs sans chillrun except in the very early morning, so that's when I go.  But recently, I got the hankering to do some afternoon runs, too.  And that means... taking Jack.

It's a mess.  But it checks a few boxes at once:  it gets Jack out of Majestad's hair for a few minutes, heat-conditions his old dad, is typically hilarious, and it's a mother of a workout.

And Jack loves to run.  Or at least likes the idea.

He flits about the house after I ask him the question.  He throws on his running clothes.  (It took me all summer to convince him to wear a shirt.  Ahem.)   He makes me fill a sippycup full of ice water.  He tells me to take a bottle, too.  Raisins, a Lärabar, he has to be all stocked up before he leaves.  It has to sustain him for a torturous afternoon run... spanning about 25 minutes.

25 minutes is also the amount of time we spend getting ready.

Jack explodes down the driveway "STOP, THERE'S A CAR, JACK!  STOP!  I SAID STOP, DUDE!" and upon starting again runs like he's entirely engulfed in ignited jet fuel for about 35 yards.  He then yells ahead, "WAIT DADDY, WAIT!  I'M TIRED!"  He's gassed.

The Dude piles into the jogging stroller.  The one he outgrew in 2010.  So there we are, front wheel properly locked, Jack's legs protruding from the stroller on either side, almost dragging the ground.  The ridiculous amount of water we have on board sloshes, and I settle in to my work.

The Motor gets to hoof it behind him, pushing that little sucker - and his darn water - and his raisins - and his Lärabar - over creation as fast as I can without having a stroke.  Now I know what those dudes that carried the litters for ancient royalty felt like.  It's not a great gig.  I've actually taught him to goad me, yelling "FASTER, DADDY!" and as if to a slow horse, "HYAH, DADDY, HYAH!"  I tell him to push harder. 

Dude, the shape parenting gets you in.  It's unreal.

Our turnaround is this tiny little stop sign on the trail.  Usually, I'll pull close alongside it and Jack will slap it for good luck and good measure.  This last week, he somehow dumps himself flat out of the stroller, in front of the 19,186 people waiting at the light.  I figured there was no way to spin this positively.  I'm certain to be The Bad Parent for either (1) not strapping him in - he won't fit and refuses anyway, (2) seemingly dumping him out in the first place, or (3) laughing at him.  We got lost, and fast.

Yakubu's also my in-run public relations coordinator.  He relentlessly waves and says loud hellos to people, and to the cars lined up at the stoplight.  The ones that just saw him manage to fall out of a stroller.  He belts out a continuous, 2 minute long "HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" to everyone that will dare look at us.  I get even by drinking his ice water.  From the sippycup.  Yes, I'm a grown man.  IT TASTES LIKE IT COMES FROM A MOUNTAIN STREAM.

A few weeks back, I sort of stumbled into signing up for this local race.  On the tough miles I thought, "This could be a lot worse.  I could be pushing someone up this hill."

Part II.
Caroline decided to learn to crawl while I was visiting a certain Caribbean tax haven.  She did this for jewelry.  Jewelry!

While I was doing this (not for jewelry):

It wasn't quite fair.

Part III.
Jack is drawing.  Suddenly.  I'm serious, one day he just started drawing.  On his easel.  On his small whiteboard.  On his, er... oh boy.


Anonymous said...

Dawning Realism is the oh-fficial developmentally appropriate, art-in-the-elementary-school word for Jack's drawing--meaning the shape and form of his drawing. His drawing on the wall is just called three. I don't know WHAT you call dumping your off-spring out of a jogging stroller in front of God and everybody--though I'm sure there's a name for that too.

Victoria was ALL ABOUT the dawning realism right about the time that we had Thad--and since he was a new creature with parts unknown to her before, she decided that the parts Thad possessed that she did not deserved to added to ALL male dawning realism portraits. . . including ones of her Daddy.

I wonder what your stop light judges would have to say about that.

El Comodoro said...

Around here, we call that kind of thing a "Gravitational Emergency." Has a better ring to it than "Gross Negligence."

And Victoria's dawning realism story was cracking us up badly. Badly.

Again, I repeat my new mantra:

"This could be a lot worse."

Jennifer said...

Love the drawing. Jack really did a great representation of a person! The educator in me says that you should encourage that type of artistic expression. Also, oh my goodness, sweet Caroline is getting so big!