“This parenthood thing’s turning out to be a real inconvenience,” I frequently joke.
All too often, the joke’s on me. My son Finn’s turning into a regular comedian in this respect. A cross between Don Rickles and Jerry Seinfeld when it comes to making me look and feel like a rube — and he’s just 15 months old.
A week or so ago, he could have done Letterman.
Feeling the familiar pang for freedom, Caroline and I made plans to escape the confines of our Hansville abode with young Mr. Foo for a rare family night out. Rare as in the Irwins sleeping in until 9 a.m. on a Saturday rare.
Anyway, trying to get out and about for the evening is easier said then done when one member of our dynamic trio gets a tad cranky after 7:30 p.m.
We tried and tasted moderate success before at the Rodeo Drive-In, getting him to finally crash out on Caroline’s lap about 15 minutes into the first show of the double feature. We didn’t stay around for the second, seeing that our early riser was up and at ‘em at about 5 a.m. that day. Well, our near success lulled us into thinking that, “Hey, maybe we can go catch a movie, again.”
Great idea.
Right up there with, “Let’s see how fast this thing can go,” “I’ll bet I can jump my bike over that” and “I wonder what happens if you stick your finger in it.”
Fed, milked up, dressed in PJs and it already being an hour or so past his bedtime, we figured his young body would simply tire out and his young mind would eventually lose interest in the circus atmosphere at the drive-in.
The faint smells of sweaty kids, dogs, cigarette smoke, beer and teenage pheromones must have kicked his tiny senses into overdrive because much like Hulk Hogan, Mr. Not-So-Sleepyhead wasn’t going to give up a three-count easy.
He had to touch everything in the truck. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. When he wasn’t crawling all over us in the front seat like a school jungle gym after a week of rainy-day recess, or giggling while he tried to stick his finger up Caroline’s nose, he was hanging out the windows, laughing at passersby while babbling on about who knows what. Possibly a running commentary on the rampant display of poor hygiene.
So we waited. Held him. Put him in his carseat. Took him outside to walk him around and rock him to sleep.
Finally, after numerous combinations of the above and with a crying kid who was now four hours past his bedtime, we called it quits, backed out of our third row spot and started the drive back to Hansville.
It was a mixture of exasperation and relief for my wife and me as Finn quieted down at long last.
“I’ll bet he’s out in five minutes,” Caroline mused.
He was out in less than three.
And as stressful as the night was, the relative silence of the drive home and the sight of our peacefully sleeping son in the rearview mirror made me realize that while parenthood really is an inconvenience at times, it has also helped me appreciate and find happiness in the extremes of chaos and quiet like never before.
