Dear Diary …
When you raise children, there are some experiences that you simply can’t even put into words. Like the feeling you get when … after a long day of running around … dealing with their every demand of juice … and snacks … and TV shows … and you’re doing this by yourself, because your wife is busy with work and hasn’t gotten home yet …
You finally get them upstairs … Tuck them into their little beds … pull the blanket up to their adorable little chins … and say “Goodnight … I love you” … Words cannot describe the feeling you get when they reply with “When’s Mommy coming home?”
Yup … love you too!!!
Oh hey … if you need anything, I’ll be downstairs on my hands and knees picking LEGOs out of the carpet while you’re up here dreaming away of swingsets and sugar plums. Have a nice night!
There are so many things I don’t understand about little kids … Like why are they SO specific about certain things? I get being BRAND specific about something. I mean … Helluva Good French Onion Dip … best dip on Earth. Dean’s? Pshht. I spit in your Dean’s. Dean ain’t got nothin’ on Helluva Good.
That I get … they taste different. You know what doesn’t taste different? The same food served on two different colored plates. I also have it on good authority that milk tastes exactly the same in a plain cup as it does in a cup with a picture of Queen Elsa on it.
I had an argument with my son the other day because he wanted his milk in a blue cup. No exceptions. No compromises. He did not want the cup I had.
Oh wait … did I mention that the cup I had was also a blue cup? Cuz it was! It just wasn’t the blue cup he was pointing at. Same brand … same shade of blue …
“No .. not that one. Want THAT one!”
Look here ya little puke … I could play three card monte like a street hustler with your cups behind my back and you’d have no idea which cup was which. Use the cup!
He drives me nuts, because he’s also a terrible eater. The kid eats hot dogs and candy … that’s it. Well … and fruit … but that’s it.
The other night I couldn’t get him to eat pizza. Pizza! And those are the ridiculous nights too as a parent where you’re not even saying “Eat your broccoli and then you can have dessert.” I’m sitting here saying “Eat your greasy triangle of cheese and fatitude before you can have a piece of chocolate.” Man I am strict!!!
And that little turd … he just wants the food to go to waste. That’s what makes him happy. Last night I make him a cheeseburger. Wouldn’t eat it. OK fine .. It's delicious. I’ll eat it then.
“No! Leave it on da table. It stay right here.”
Why you gonna eat it?
Well then Daddy’s eating it … too bad!
I should point out by the way, this is a kid who freely eats his own boogers and then happily brags about them being “all gone in my tummy.” You’ll eat that, but you won’t eat the delicious food I make for you? You make no sense.
I mean … hey … maybe he’s full. I see some of those nasty things he digs out of his nose … they’re like the size of a grape. Maybe they’re really filling. I’m certainly not gonna find out for myself. But maybe they are!
I don't. know. Because that's ultimately what I do know above all else ... I don't know.
Till next time Diary … I say goodbye.