It’s a big world out there. Especially when you’re 3-foot-nothing and 40 lbs. The living room alone, which can seem airless and coffin-like to me in the depths of a polar vortex, must seem an endless savannah of ikea rugs and outsider chic to persons of the toddler variety.
And that’s just speaking geographically. To say nothing at all of the landscape of the mind. The verdant, chimeric plains of adjectives, the deep fertile valleys of irony. It’s enough to make a rapidly-growing head spin.
I’d hope that the parental filter keeps it all somewhat manageable, though. No parent, of course, can have total control over what a little Man is exposed to -no parent who rides the 21 bus, at least. But generally when some new phrase interest or dance maneuver enters the scene we can source it with reasonable accuracy.
Or at least, we once could.
The other day, as I was about to leave for work I asked Little Man if he would, as is our usual routine, give me a goodbye tickle.
How bout a hug and a kiss? A papa can hope, after all.
I should have expected the brush off anyway, as The Dude was into a project at the time. He had his triangle out of the musical instrument basket and was clanging away with the science and art only tiny hands can manage.
What I couldn’t have expected, however, was when he told me that he was, in fact, playing a goodbye rhythm for me.
His words. Goodbye rhythm.
I have no freaking idea where that came from.
I’ll take it though.