Hubs and I may have just turned a parenting corner.
I’m afraid to say anything out loud, for fear of jinxing the entire thing, only to see it all come crashing down around us like a house of cards, but when Thing 2 got up at his normal, unholy early hour today, he walked into the kitchen, pulled the Samsung tablet off the charger, walked back to his bedroom, fired up some Donald Duck cartoons, and laid on his bed to watch them.
This lasted thirty entire minutes.
I believe this is what you call the miracle that comes before the other miracle, which is when they can pour a bowl of cereal… WITH MILK… on their own and leave you to keep on sleeping when it’s still dark outside.
But this morning? Well, no one came crashing like a thunderbolt of bull-riding energy into our bedroom, to proclaim, “I’M AWAKE! I’M AWAKE! SOUND THE ALARM AND FIRE THE CANNONS!”
Hubs and I are calling today our Day of Progress.
In other news, the boy had a golf tournament here in town today.
I may have mentioned it, but that’s all the boy actually does any more. He practices the golf. He plays the golf. He works at the golf course. He comes home and talks about golf. He spends his money on golf shoes. In other words, Hubs and I very rarely even SEE that big boy of ours any more, until he’s hungry.
This morning, I made him stop so I could take a quick picture of him, before his tournament. He grumbled a bit and said, “Mom, seriously… enough with the pictures already.”
I didn’t listen to him.
I never listen to boys who protest about having their pictures taken.
Hubs and I would love to actually WATCH a high school golf tournament, but the rules state that spectators can’t be within fifty yards of the players. We are, however, welcome to follow well behind a group of golfers in a cart, as long as we are quiet and don’t shout out things like, “TRY THE NINE IRON!”
Apparently, this is not only frowned upon, but will actually get you kicked straight off the golf course during a high school tournament.
So, Hubs and I keep our giant, foam fingers and cowbells and air horns at home. I tell the boy, “Text us and keep us posted on how you’re doing.” None of the other parents go to the tournaments, either… even when they’re here in town. It’s too hard to even manage to SEE your kid on the golf course, without renting a hot air balloon to hover overhead, at the designated fifty yard distance.
We found out that this big boy of ours golfed the third best score on his team today. He didn’t win any medals at this tournament, but he was powerfully happy with how he did, and so are his parents.
We kind of like him.