“You want me to what?”
I’m in charge of making breakfast in our household.
I don’t mind. I’m a morning person and my commute to work is pretty short: about 10 paces from the kitchen to my office in the garage. My wife takes advantage to sleep in, read a book or to head out for a walk or to the gym, and then she handles lunch and usually dinner.
The trouble with making breakfast is the children.
They wake up at different times and with little regard for my commute to get to work on time.
At the table, the youngest is the slowest to eat. She looks at her food almost with disdain, seeming not to want to eat even as her elder sister casually consumes and her brother wolfs down his breakfast and then asks for more. [continue reading…]
“Yeah, he thinks it’s from doing the housework.” “That’s a laugh!”
I went to the ER with a skin rash, and took my youngest daughter.
The doctor looked at me and said, “Well, it looks like you’re the only guy to get sunburned on a rainy day!”
I didn’t laugh – and tried not to itch.
But before I could respond with any explanation, my six-year-old daughter said, “I think it was the beer.”
The doctor looked at her and smiled as if to say, “How cute.”
We’d been out for a pizza, beer and water. The youngest is prone to skin rashes, stemming, so we think, from the food coloring in soft drinks, most likely in Mirinda and maybe Coca-Cola. So she drinks water and thinks now after all her experience that beer probably has the same effect on me. [continue reading…]
“Breakfast in bed sounds good to me, don’t you think, Daddy?”
My wife took off on her own for 10 days to England, and the kids said, “We’ll miss you.”
Tears came, and a long cry by the youngest.
I tried to cheer up the six-year-old by jumping into a Superman pose with my arms held up straight, my chest puffed out and my face beaming.
“Don’t worry, you’ve got Super Daddy!”
The six-year-old looked me up and down and then let her head drop again before continuing to cry.
Her solace? [continue reading…]
