Bestest night ever!

Last night, I had a part in creating "the bestest night ever!"

Wasn't really the plan, and I wasn't even sure I was capable of such a feat. But I did it and it feels good.

Neomom got a call from a girlfriend here in town in the afternoon. She was invited over for dinner. The girlfriend has a son about Sontoo's age, so he was tagging along.

That left Sonwun and I to fend for ourselves. Cool! Sonwun seemed very, very excited by the idea. His level of enthusiasm actually surprised me.

But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. With Sonwun going to school five days a week, any of my individual, one-on-one time, is spent with Sontoo. He takes it for granted. And I guess I just didn't realize that Sonwun never, ever gets time alone with me. Sontoo is always there.

Gotta say that it's a bit of an ego boost to know just how much he seems to crave alone time with Daddy.

Anyhoo, as soon as Neomom and Sontoo had cleared the driveway, I headed downstairs and grabbed a coke out of the fridge for Sonwun. A rare treat. But this was man time. He could belch with impunity and needed fuel.

And then, after stuffing a piece of toffee in his mouth (too close to supper - HA!) we sat down on the couch and fired up the Wii. MarioKart! Game on! We played, side by side, cheering each other on, to first and second place finishes in a bunch of races. Sometimes he took the win, sometimes me. I actually had a great time. Excited high fives all around with each victory.

He loves to play games with me. And he loves to cook with me, given the chance. But juggling schedules, kids and hot pots is not always an option. Last night, on the other hand . . .

Phase 2 of "the bestest night ever" was the cooking phase. We worked together, Chef and sous chef, to make pizza dough from scratch. And, after scouring the fridge, came up with ingredients for a cheese and pastrami pizza, heavy on the cheese. Sonwun doesn't like too many things cluttering up his pizza.

And finally, we headed downstairs, just the two of us, to eat our pizza in the rec room, drink more coke, burp freely, and watch five or six episodes of Batman, The Brave and the Bold. A perfect end to the bestest night ever.

And that's where Neomom found us when she got home. Curled up on the floor, together, watching Batman rid Gotham City of the Joker.

You know, being the stay-at-home parent, you sometimes take the kids for granted. They are there 24-7. You don't get the excited "MOMMY'S HOME!!" at the end of every working day. You spend the day refereeing squabbles, encouraging the minions to clean up their toys and making sure they finish their vegetables, brush their teeth and get to bed on time.

So it was a gift, to me, to be able to spend one evening alone with Sonwun. To be able to relax the rules and get to know him just a little better. I plan to make Daddy-Sonwun Day a regular thing. And Daddy-Sontoo Day as well.

Well it's 5:30 a.m. and Sonwun has just stumbled out of bed. He smiles at me, still sleepy eyes.

"I had an awesome time with you yesterday," he says.

Worth its weigh in gold.

Have a great Hump Day. Celebrate as you see fit.

Grrrrrr!

The people who lived in this house before us must have been younger than me.

Why else would you install giant mirror doors on the closet in the breezeway? They have got to go.

First thing in the morning, I don't need to see me. I am doing my damndest to live under the illusion that I'm still young, vibrant and all that good stuff. Mirrors, especially double-door, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, have a negative impact on that illusion at 5 a.m.

Okay, that's thought #1 for the morning.

Thought #2:

Batman just isn't good enough any more.

As I sit here this morning, I am listening to Sonwun do his best to sing along with the Spiderman theme song. "Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can . . ."

He loves his superheroes and has a constant thirst on for the next Justice League DVD rental from Blockbuster.

And while I remain Superman, Neomom remains Batgirl and Sontoo is still Robin, Sonwun has upgraded. He is no longer merely Batman. He is now Batman Flash.

In the Justice League videos, Flash is the touted as the fastest man in the universe, which apparently has struck a chord with my eldest. Thus the change in nomenclature.

Thought #3:

I hate discipline. I think I've mentioned this before. And I think I've mentioned that I recognize it is a necessary part of raising responsible, respectful boys. But I still hate it.

Yesterday, Batman Flash was wandering around the house with his little space rocket launcher. It was part of a Hotwheels set. When attached to the track, it launches its little rocket when the cars go by. No major velocity here, but it shoots something and that is highly attractive to a four-year-old superhero.

So Batman Flash (he insist upon being called that) wanders through the kitchen as I'm cooking supper (ribs, mashed potatoes, corn) and he's got that look in his eye. I'm Superman, so I know the look.

It's the look that says, "I need to find something fun to shoot with my rocket launcher."

As he is headed in the direction of Sontoo, I take a moment to head off discipline. I offer the warning, a little reminder, a directive.

"Sonwun, do NOT shoot your brother with that thing."

He acknowledges the advice and I go back to my cooking.

But he does not break pace. He continues into the dining room in the direction of Sontoo. So I put down the potato masher and follow quietly.

And, again, without breaking pace, he walks up and shoots his brother in the head.

As I said, it's a very, very low velocity device. Sontoo barely notices the hit. But that's not the point is it? The point is his gross and blatant disregard for Superman's warning, advice, law. Honestly, that level of disregard for my edict took me by surprise.

"SONWUN," I yell.

He spins around and drops to the floor like he's been hit with a taser. He's caught and he knows it.

And, well, to make a long story short, immediate corrective measures were administered.

I hate discipline. But I just can't have him believing that my directives are an option or that it's okay to shoot his brother with rockets. As he gets bigger, his rockets will get bigger as will their destructive potential.

And it's these things that I think about. It's these things that turn my hair grey. It's these things that make me despise the giant mirrors at 5 a.m.