In Which Kendall Does It Wrong...
"Daddy, I'm hungry," your four year old said matter of factly to his father. You smiled, noticing once more how your son attached himself to his dad the minute he walked in the door.
"Come on buddy, I think there's an apple in the kitchen with your name on it," Kendall said, taking the little boys hand and walking with him while you continued with your afternoon reading.
"Really? It really says my name?" You heard your son ask, and could only imagine how wide his green eyes were as he contemplated this fact.
"No, not really," Kendall explained as he sat his little man on the counter. "It's just a saying, really," he scratched the back of his neck as he tried to explain as simple as possible. "I guess I'm not really sure where it came from. It's funny though, isn't it?" His eyes crinkled into a smile as he watched his son pluck an apple from the bowl on the counter.
"This one, Dad," Mini-Kendall stated, holding the fruit out for him. "Can you cut it up for me?"
"Oh course." Kendall fluffed his son's hair and moved to wash the fruit and grab a sharp knife.
"You know, Dad," your son continued. Kendall looked over at him perched on the counter, making sure he was still safe, "Mom says I'm not supposed to sit on the counter."
Kendall smiled, wiped the fruit with a towel, stepped back near his son, and winked. "It'll be our little secret, buddy." He sliced the fruit in half, put one half aside, and laid the other half flat on the counter, slicing again, and then once more on each half of that.
He looked over at his son, who's eyes were sad, with small tears streaming down his cheeks. "That's not the way you do it, Daddy," he whispered.
Confused, Kendall laid down the knife. "Not how you do what?"
His son's voice grew louder, "That's not how Mommy does it," he wailed, balling his fists into his eyes. "It's not the same, Daddy!"
Kendall lifted his son from the counter, holding him over his shoulder. "It's okay. Let's just go back to the living room and find out how Mommy does it," he soothed, rubbing small circles on his mini's back. He took his time carrying his son to the living room, hoping he would be done with crying by the time the duo reached you, and soon enough, he had slowed down to tiny hiccupping sobs pressed into the older man's neck.
"What happened?" you asked as Kendall and your son sat down.
The little guy looked up from his hiding place, green eyes bright from tears. "Daddy didn't cut my apple right. Not like you, Mom." He crawled over his fathers lap and nestled into yours. "He left the skin on."
You could only grin at the tiny mistake, and wiped your son's tear stained cheeks. "It's okay. Mommy and Daddy's sometimes do things differently for their kids, but it's all the same in the end," you reassured him. "You'll still be able to eat the apple, and I bet you that Dad was going to cut the skins off...after."
This explanation was rewarded with a big hug, his little arms around your neck. You wrapped your arms around him and held on tight, peeking over at Kendall. Your son was watching him too, reading his face in only the way children do. He reached out a hand to touch his father's shoulder. "I still love you, Dad. But Mom has to teach you how to cut my apples, okay?"
