I Think I Hear Aunt Jamima Crying.....
Quick story this week......Maia's been sick, mostly at night, so I'm getting little to no sleep and thus am afraid am not at the top of my comedic game right now. But this one writes itself, and is most DEFINITELY a story I will be telling the first scruffy-faced potential daughter deflower-er that gets within shooting distance of the house.
So Aidan has been trying really, really hard to big a big kid; he's excited that he's three and a half, because that's almost 4....and in his words, when he's 4, he'll be a "dery dery dery big kid." He's putting himself to sleep at night after stories, which is great because it used to take half an hour of laying with him to get him out. He can get himself dressed (when the mood strikes, anyway-- most days it's still like trying to wrestle a Speedo onto a greased up badger cranked on PCP), he can fasten his own belt, and he'll even go to the potty by himself if it's a #1. Which, as he informed me, he calls "peeps." Good thing I hate those stupid marshmallow Easter chicks anyway, because ewwww.
The other day as breakfast was winding down, when Mom was at work and I was playing ref in the UFC octagon I call "my living room", Aidan announced he had to go peeps. So he charged off the the kids bathroom, and Maia toddled after him, still gripping her waffle and burbling cutely. Nothing interesting happened; Maia came giggling out of the bathroom first, and ran to me, dropping her waffle on the entryway floor as she came. Aidan flushed, and then dropped the first bomb.
"Dad! Maia stuck her fingers in the peeps!"
I have to say, I was rather impressed with myself. Like a highly trained martial artist, I sidestepped Maia, scooped her up from behind, and took her to wash her hands. I let her go, and on the way back stopped to pick up the waffle. I had JUST touched it when, simultaneously, I heard from behind me:
"Dad! Maia put her waffle in the peeps too."
It was soggy. And cold. Did I mention soggy? You know you've made it as a father when you see something like this, just kind of sigh and hang your head, and pick it up barehanded anyway...while trying to keep it intact so as to ascertain whether or not your little princess has taken a bite of her pee-soaked waffle. Good times, good times.
So Aidan has been trying really, really hard to big a big kid; he's excited that he's three and a half, because that's almost 4....and in his words, when he's 4, he'll be a "dery dery dery big kid." He's putting himself to sleep at night after stories, which is great because it used to take half an hour of laying with him to get him out. He can get himself dressed (when the mood strikes, anyway-- most days it's still like trying to wrestle a Speedo onto a greased up badger cranked on PCP), he can fasten his own belt, and he'll even go to the potty by himself if it's a #1. Which, as he informed me, he calls "peeps." Good thing I hate those stupid marshmallow Easter chicks anyway, because ewwww.
The other day as breakfast was winding down, when Mom was at work and I was playing ref in the UFC octagon I call "my living room", Aidan announced he had to go peeps. So he charged off the the kids bathroom, and Maia toddled after him, still gripping her waffle and burbling cutely. Nothing interesting happened; Maia came giggling out of the bathroom first, and ran to me, dropping her waffle on the entryway floor as she came. Aidan flushed, and then dropped the first bomb.
"Dad! Maia stuck her fingers in the peeps!"
I have to say, I was rather impressed with myself. Like a highly trained martial artist, I sidestepped Maia, scooped her up from behind, and took her to wash her hands. I let her go, and on the way back stopped to pick up the waffle. I had JUST touched it when, simultaneously, I heard from behind me:
"Dad! Maia put her waffle in the peeps too."
It was soggy. And cold. Did I mention soggy? You know you've made it as a father when you see something like this, just kind of sigh and hang your head, and pick it up barehanded anyway...while trying to keep it intact so as to ascertain whether or not your little princess has taken a bite of her pee-soaked waffle. Good times, good times.
posted by Clueless Dad | 6:15 AM
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