I work with a student who's obsessed with dinosaurs. Obsessed. He tells me about one of his favorites being the Velociraptor with the fascination of a young mind in how he thinks a Velociraptor worked. "He targets something, while another Velociraptor swings in to take care of business."
It made me think - sometimes parents approach child rearing in a "good cop - bad cop" kind of way with one being passive while the other, more the authoritarian. In our family however, my husband, well, my husband is my Velociraptor. He swoops in from the side of things when I'm having the worst kind of day, then handles the situation quickly and effectively, before things get out of control.
Take last week. It was his birthday and our eight and ten year olds were arguing over who would get to hold and carry his cake. Fussing to light the candles, I informed them how neither would be carrying the sheet cake of flames and they could walk in with me while we all sang instead. My parents and the other kids were waiting in the dining room with Adam, while we three bickered over the bearer of the sugary torch.
Upon carefully balancing the cake with one hand and trying to record with my phone in the other, I quickly realized it might actually be safer for one of the kids to hold the cake, rather than attempting to text and sing.
Our son was already in the dining room, so I apprehensively handed the now flaming ball of icing to our eight year old and hurried her along.
She couldn't be happier. Beaming from ear to ear, she was beyond excited to have the honor of carrying her first cake to her Daddy.
Cue the singing, cue the angered ten year old brother who now sees his little sister rounding the corner with the cake...and cue the family dog our daughter didn't realize was lying across the floor while she ventured in from the kitchen.
"Happy birthday to you" suddenly became a tumbling eight year old releasing a flying, flaming blaze of forty some years followed by a gasp from everyone in the room. My mom yells about the dog, our son yells, "I KNEW IT!" furious after he'd already announced his little sister would drop the cake if she carried it by herself. Before I could scream at the entire situation altogether, enter, my Velociraptor of a husband - swooping in from the side.
Grabbing the cake (that somehow landed upright), he quickly high fived our daughter telling her "nice save", gave a smile as we confusingly began singing again - while the family dog remained undaunted and unmoved.
How were there no injuries to child or dog, no explosions of trajectory cake and icing for days, not to mention zero instantaneous combustions of flaming curtains? One may never know.
What I do know is, my husband is my Velociraptor. The one I can count on to unexpectedly come in and attack the everyday crazy situations in this jungle we call life. Every single cake flying, fire flaming, dog tripping impossible adventure.
We Love You, Adam. Happy Birthday! XO
It made me think - sometimes parents approach child rearing in a "good cop - bad cop" kind of way with one being passive while the other, more the authoritarian. In our family however, my husband, well, my husband is my Velociraptor. He swoops in from the side of things when I'm having the worst kind of day, then handles the situation quickly and effectively, before things get out of control.
Take last week. It was his birthday and our eight and ten year olds were arguing over who would get to hold and carry his cake. Fussing to light the candles, I informed them how neither would be carrying the sheet cake of flames and they could walk in with me while we all sang instead. My parents and the other kids were waiting in the dining room with Adam, while we three bickered over the bearer of the sugary torch.
Upon carefully balancing the cake with one hand and trying to record with my phone in the other, I quickly realized it might actually be safer for one of the kids to hold the cake, rather than attempting to text and sing.
Our son was already in the dining room, so I apprehensively handed the now flaming ball of icing to our eight year old and hurried her along.
She couldn't be happier. Beaming from ear to ear, she was beyond excited to have the honor of carrying her first cake to her Daddy.
Cue the singing, cue the angered ten year old brother who now sees his little sister rounding the corner with the cake...and cue the family dog our daughter didn't realize was lying across the floor while she ventured in from the kitchen.
"Happy birthday to you" suddenly became a tumbling eight year old releasing a flying, flaming blaze of forty some years followed by a gasp from everyone in the room. My mom yells about the dog, our son yells, "I KNEW IT!" furious after he'd already announced his little sister would drop the cake if she carried it by herself. Before I could scream at the entire situation altogether, enter, my Velociraptor of a husband - swooping in from the side.
Grabbing the cake (that somehow landed upright), he quickly high fived our daughter telling her "nice save", gave a smile as we confusingly began singing again - while the family dog remained undaunted and unmoved.
How were there no injuries to child or dog, no explosions of trajectory cake and icing for days, not to mention zero instantaneous combustions of flaming curtains? One may never know.
What I do know is, my husband is my Velociraptor. The one I can count on to unexpectedly come in and attack the everyday crazy situations in this jungle we call life. Every single cake flying, fire flaming, dog tripping impossible adventure.
We Love You, Adam. Happy Birthday! XO
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