Posted by mike On October 23, 2013
Remember that show, where Bill Cosby would talk to some lil’ children, and the kids would say the most random things? Sometimes, that stuff was hilarious, just straight jokes. I used to think that the kids must have been actors or something. However, I understand now that, nah, they weren’t actors. Just from talking to B, and then being around other kids (birthday parties, school, sports etc. You know, those places that you probably wouldn’t be around very much if you didn’t have kids that you had to take there), you realize that children are….random. Sometimes (OK, a lot of the time), I have no clue WTF B is talking about. I remember one time, when B was two, almost three years old. K was at her baseball game, and B wasn’t feeling it when I was telling him that, so we got into an argument about it:
B- ‘Where’s mommy?’
Me- ‘I told you, she’s at a baseball game.’
B- ‘No! She’s at work!!’
Me – ‘What? I never said that. She’s playing baseball.’
B – ‘No! She’s at work!’
Me – ‘No!’
B – ‘ YES!’
Me – ‘Ok ok, she’s at work.’
B – ‘Daddy? Where’s mommy?’
Me – ‘She’s at work!!!’
B – ‘No! She’s playing baseball.’
Me – ‘ARRGH!’
B – ‘Daddy?’
Me – ‘Yes!?’
B – ‘Are you mad?’
No B, I wasn’t mad. Thanks for the Cosby moment, though.
Posted by mike On October 21, 2013
First post! I will get things poppin’ with an ongoing problem in our house – the bedtime routine.
As a three year old, B was your typical three year old boy. Or so I am told anyway. Before having kids, I wasn’t really up on how toddlers were. Getting him to go to bed varies in levels of sucktacularness and ridiculousness each night. The highest level warranted their own awards, which I call the Bedtime WTF Awards. For example, one night, here were the nominees:
1) B is screaming for help. I go to check on him. As I open his door, he sprints by like Usain Bolt, stops on a dime at his bed, grabs a book and flings it across the room like a discus. He then goes “Please get my book, daddy!”
2) Later, B is screaming and banging his door, I check on him again:
B (tears running down his face, sobbing) – ‘Your hair is on my door. Get it.’
I don’t have hair. I fake wipe the door.
B (sobbing more) – ‘No! The other side of the door!’
More fake wiping.
B (voice suddenly normal) – ‘Put the hair in your pocket! Will you put it in the garbage? For the garbage truck? What colour’s the garbage truck?’
3) Later, yet more screaming, I go to his room again:
Me – ‘What’s wrong now?’
B- ‘The cows outside. They’re mooing. The mooing is scaring me!’
Me – ‘We don’t live on a farm. There are no cows outside!’
And the winner is…no one.
The loser? Me……