A Messy Conversation

I'm typing this in my basement office (of course), listening to John Scofield with Adam. He's been big into jazz derivatives this week. Mostly the Flecktones, whom he adores. But now he's branching out a little from there. He loves music. He loves hearing sound upon sound layered on top of each other until you feel like you should explode. He's always saying

Daddy, what dat sound is?

Usually he'll answer his own question.

Dat SAXOPHONE, Daddy!

or

Dat DRUMS, Daddy!

Sometimes, if he knows the band, he'll even say who is playing what instrument.

Daddy, what dat sound is? Dat SAXOPHONE! Jeff Coffin play saxophone!

So, we're downstairs, in my basement office, grooving to John Scofield circa 1990, and I'm starting to remember why he's about my favorite person to ever live. Starting, mind you. Because today has been a tough day.

I'm proud of the fact that I'm a stay-at-home Dad. I've been with Adam most of his life. I was in ministry when he was born, so it was easy to take him to work with me. Church people love babies. And then, when I left ministry, we decided that I wouldn't work for a while because we couldn't find anything I could do that would make very much more than we'd pay out in child care. So I've been there for most of his big moments, and I'm proud of that.

But there are some moments that I'd almost like to miss. Like potty training.

Today is day 5. The first four days went fairly well. Day 5 has been hell. That hell can be summed up in a single conversation.

My need new diaper, Daddy!

Adam, you're not wearing a diaper, remember?

Oh... Sorry, Daddy. My pooped.

(Groan)

That's happened twice today!

But now we're grooving to John Scofield, so everything's going to be alright.