Copycat | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Copycat | Previous Challenge Entry
By Charles Eldredge
12/03/09
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Sitting in my recliner, stealing a couple of minutes for myself, I couldn’t help thinking about the funk that I had been in lately. Ever since my company closed and I was laid off, I haven’t been able to find another job. Instead I have been spending my days taking care of our son Nick while my wife supports the family, which has been eating away at me and making me feel like an incompetent husband.

To be honest, before my layoff I never really thought about how much work it was to run the household, but I definitely didn’t know that it was this hard. Today started pretty much like every other day, I made my wife breakfast and fed Nick while she was eating, gave her a kiss as she left, and went about cleaning everything up. For the next couple of hours things were quiet on the home front and I was able to entertain Nick and still get the housework done.

I put Nick down for his nap and decided to catch some of last night’s hockey game, which I recorded while I was spending time with my wife. I made it through most of the first period when a loud crash sounded, scaring the heck out of me.

With my heart pounding, I ran into the kitchen to see what happened. My ‘fight or flight’ instinct was instantly gone, however, when I saw what had caused the noise because I immediately burst into laughter. Not just any laughter, mind you, but the kind that leaves your eyes watering, your sides hurting, and your lungs begging for air.

There was my wonderful son sitting on the kitchen floor with a goofy grin and wearing my favorite Red Sox hat cocked on his head like a rapper. It wasn’t just his grin that made me crack up though. It was also a combination of the broken chocolate syrup bottle at his feet, the sweet brown snack covering his little body, and the perfect outline of him on the white cabinet behind him, surrounded by a bottle’s worth of cocoa splatter.

“What are you doing, Buddy” I asked when I caught my breath.

“I make chockit milk like Daddy” he replied, clearly proud of himself, “inna Sox hat!”

With another chuckle, I told him to stay still and went to get the camera. There was no way I was going to rob my wife of this image, so I captured the scene from as many angles as a crime scene investigator. She would love this, especially when I told her what he was doing.

I grabbed Nick, got him into the bath, and laid him down again, this time turning on the radio for him to keep him occupied. Heading back into the kitchen, I couldn’t keep from giggling again, picturing the little knucklehead standing there. I finished cleaning up the mess, checked on a finally sleeping Nick, and headed for my chair.

As I sit here recalling the day’s events, I realize that Nick trying to make chocolate milk reminded me that I should be following his example; instead of feeling sorry for myself, I should be a good son who appreciates the little things his Father does for him.

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