Straight Up DNA

Tonight Grayson helped me get his lunch ready for tomorrow.  He cut up the strawberries.  "I can do that, Mommy.  Daddy taught me how." 

So I handed him the (softly serrated) knife and scooted over to make sandwiches.

He ever so slowly and meticulously sliced off the green tops of each berry then quartered each one by one without once asking for assistance.  I think I could hear Tom Colicchio and Padma cry.

"See," he says proudly when it's all finished, "Daddy taught me how to cut strawberries!"

 Yes.  Oh, yes he did.

  (I could not draw a line so diagonal if I had a ruler and a T square.)

Apple.

Tree.

Like Father, Like Son

Lately, Grayson has been waking up when Andy does.  Around 4:30am.  Grayson finds his daddy somewhere in the house and curls up next to him if he's asleep, waits for him on the stairs if he's putting on his boots or makes ridiculous requests for breakfast if he is reaching for his car keys.  

I didn't grow up with my dad in the house so I grew very attached to my uncle, my grandfather (with whom we did live) and later my step dad. Excellent and substantial substitutes for a girl missing her own dad.  

What I realize more than ever, now that I see it with my own eyes, is just how much a little boy needs his dad.  

 There is just so much to watch,

to learn,

to feel,

 

to become,

to follow.

Hard to substitute that.