“If you’re not going to eat your cereal, let’s go upstairs and get changed,” I said. Conor didn’t like that. “I am going to eat it. Just not right now.”

“You slept late. There’s no time for later,” I replied sternly. The line in the sand had been drawn. The duel was on. This is where we cue the suspense music.

Conor called my bluff. I turned and walked upstairs to get dressed. He hates being alone. And he left the table to join me. At a distance.

I closed the gap between us and extricated his pajama top. And replaced it with thermals. It’s still cold outside. Even colder than his demeaner towards me right now.

The omnivore was ready to return to the feeding trough after he got dressed so we headed back to the kitchen. He wanted to sit on my lap.

“No time for that now. It’s time to make lunch.” The Mexican stand-off resumed. Conor whimpered, “I’m not eating unless I can sit on your lap.”

“You’d better eat now because when this hotdog is safe in its bun, we’re off to school. Breakfast or no breakfast.”

“Mom gives me 6 chances,” he dared to say. I volleyed, “I’m giving you two. And one chance you already passed up. Time to decide.”

He paused too long. I wrapped him in his coat like a burrito and guided him out the door. “Wait, I haven’t eaten yet,” he pleaded.

He cried louder than John Lennon was singing “Hey Jude” on the radio as we rolled down the street. I guess it’s just one of those teaching moments.

I dropped him off and came back home. All that teaching has made me hungry. Time to eat his breakfast.

Tags: breakfast, discipline, school, dads, sons

Yea, it’s Easter. Happy Easter, everybody. Why did we get up early on Easter again? Church. Oh yeah, church. To remind us why Easter really exists. Thanks.

Conor, just eat your cereal so we can get to church on time. Then we need to get you dressed. I know you think church is boring. Now let’s go.

I know the seat belt is tight. That’s because you just ate breakfast and I can’t figure out how to loosen the straps. Suck in that gut.

Wow, I didn’t know this many people were Catholic, honey. There’s no room for us to sit today. I know you tried to wake us earlier. Happy Easter, remember?

Conor, you’re too heavy to hold. Then again, that cross was mighty heavy for Jesus. Okay, I’ll hold you for the entire mass. Happy Easter.

Father John rocks the sermon like he always does. I wipe the tears of empathy away. Valerie does the same. Conor’s tears are those of boredom and wanting to leave.

Mass is over. The line to say hi to Father John is tremendous. We walk by and high five him. Conor hollers, “Happy Eastah,” with his Bostonian accent. The congregation laughs.

Conor is strapped into his car seat again. The parking garage is a trap and I can’t get out. Conor says, “Mom, I kinda like church. Even though it’s really boring.”

Maybe he was moved by the Holy Spirit. All of us should be now and again. Happy Eastah!

Tags: easter, 2016, st. cecilias, catholic, church, father john unni, happy eastah

Woke up Saturday with a plan. Easter egg hunt at 9:00am. Not easy to do after a beer hunt the night before. Silly rabbit.

Forgot the Easter basket. Where’s a grocery bag? Ding. Got it. Let’s go honey. Let’s go Conor. That bunny waits for no one at the Quincy Nazarene Church.

300 kids. That’s a lot of competition for some eggs. That Easter bunny must be in a lot of pain. Conor ties his running shoes. Damn, we forgot his helmet.

The whistle blows. The kids charge. No elbowing. No tripping. No crying. I was hoping for a little more drama. No, not really.

Conor checked his bag. Thrilled. Easter booty from the Easter bunny is worth waking up for. Even if he did whine the whole way here.

“Here dad, hold my stuff, I see a bouncy house.” Conor ran off with his friends. Wish I could find a bouncy couch. And take a nap.

Wait, what? We have to rush to ice skating lessons after an ambitious Easter egg hunt? What? Oh yes, here it is in my calendar.

Tags: easter, 2016, nazarene, quincy, easter eggs, hunt