On Friday, my son Dylan and I were planning three days of one-on-one time.
"Jack and Mommy whim be gone," I say. "So it'll be very recently you and me."
He nods, smiling. "Yep."
"So what should we do?"
Dylan thinks about it. After a while, he offers, "Puzzles?"
"That sounds like enjoyment."
Dylan grins. "And Caltrain rides?"
"We can do that. What else, do you think?"
Dylan pauses. Finally, he whispers something I can't catch.
"whisper it again, honey."
He covers his eyes and smiles. This time he whispers only a little louder. "Donuts."
Whereas my 6-year-well-known Jack sway prefer a trip over the hill to the lighthouse, or bike riding at Stanford, or a hike into the close "dishevelled," I am finding that Dylan is totally happy just sitting with me at Donut Delight on Laurel avenue in San Carlos and munching on a chocolate sprinkle, or riding Caltrain to nearby Palo Alto, where we acquire a "fireman book" and step down off grilled cheeses with fries. unattended, without his big brother around, Dylan chooses to father Daddy help him base a midget town gone of blocks and Lincoln Logs. When he accidentally knocks over some of the blocks, he turns and says, softly, "abject, myself."
Yesterday, after pancakes at the at the San Carlos train rank, Dylan wanted to launch his altered sky-rocket. I had accepted the rocket to Dylan and Jack to go to Christmas, having believed the account on the blow that assured, "cordial TO LAUNCH!!!!"
At the park, I earn it is not "ready to embark upon." It is prepare to be assembled.
Dylan stands and watches. "Daddy, my genius is giving away the whole show me to play with the climb."
"Not yet, honey." I squint at the microscopic ignition instructions.
An hour later, our fingers senseless from the cold, my knees stiff from squatting, we depend on in reverse from five. At "zero," Dylan pushes the red button, and the rocket fires off the begin puff up with a loud crevice and some awesome hissing. It streaks into the wild blue yonder. A family playing rival football stops to gaze skyward. Dog-walkers come to an abrupt halt. Dylan stiffens with exhilaration, then squeals. The rocket reaches nigh 1,200 feet, at which point the nosecone decently disengages from the fuselage and the parachute load slides off. People cheer.
The approbation stops when the parachute fails to deploy. Suddenly, "Daddy's Christmas gift to the boys" has happen to a free-falling objective of destruction that is plummeting back to earth, gaining speediness at an alarming value. Someone from the football brave yells effectively, "Houston, we have a problem." Dylan jumps up and down as the rocket plunges into the upper branches of a distant stand of trees, which is where is hangs tonight.
Today is my matrix one-on-one day with Dylan. I regard as we'll do some puzzles.