Below the Belt (Mar 24, 2012)

Isabella (five-years-old): Daddy, girls can have babies, but boys can’t.
Me: Well, uh, yes, Honey, That’s right.
Iz: Because boys have something between their legs to stop the baby from coming out. What is that thing?
Me: Well, Honey, you’re right. Boys and girls have different bodies. You see…
Iz: Did you know that sometimes the moon is big and sometimes it is small? Why is that? And, where do the stars go during the day.

Me: (Whew… Not yet…)

Almost verbatim.

Dawg (Mar 15, 2012)

Cuddling with seven-year-old Julianna as she drifted off to sleep last night:



J: Daddy, sing me a song.

Me (singing): Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star…

J: No, something else.

Me: Ok… “You are my sunshine. My only…”

J: No, stop… Maybe NOT singing is better than singing.


Me: Ouch. Was “American Idol” on tonight?

J (mumbling and drifting off…): Yes……Song choice…



(And admittedly, I was a little “pitchy,” whatever the hell that is.)

What’s Gnocchi? (Mar 9, 2012)

Facing off against five-year-old Isabella… (And captured on video for those doubters):



Me: Do you want gnocchi for dinner?

Iz: No! Waaaaaaahhh!

Me: No?… Really?

Iz: Yes, because then you’ll know what I want!


Me: Hmm, So… You want gnocchi. But, No, you don’t want me to know that you want gnocchi.

Iz: Noooooo! Wahhhh! Yes! I don’t want gnocchi! But I do! I do want it! Waaaahhhhhh!



Me: You want it, but you won’t tell me you want it… What if I put the gnocchi in the fridge for later?

Iz: If I can have it tomorrow? Ok! As long as I can have it now and you don’t know about tomorrow. 



That’s the last ten minutes of my life. Funny “ha ha” for you. Not so much for me. And, the night is still so young.

Who’s Your Daddy (Feb 28, 2012)

Snuggling in bed with the girls…



Julianna (seven-years-old): Dada, you’re my FIRST Daddy ever.

Me: FIRST??… What exactly has Mommy been telling you?

Julianna: No, I mean BEST Daddy ever.

Me: Well, I’m your First, Best, and Only Daddy. I see how you can be confused.

Julianna: Ummm… But, sometimes kids have two Daddies, right?

Me: Remind me… What has Mommy been saying?

Mommy (yelling from the next room): First and Only!



Me (reassured): Well, Julianna, yes Honey, sometimes kids might have two Mommies or Daddies, and that’s Ok….

Sofa Kick (Feb 15, 2012)

During yet another tantrum from a five-year-old (started with the request: Please eat your soup), Isabella inadvertently provided a few minutes of levity and mockery from Mommy and Daddy:



Isabella (flopping on floor): Owwwww!!! I hurt my toe. And, it’s YOUR fault!
Daddy: Really? My fault?
Isabella: Yes, I hurt myself because you didn’t move the sofa BEFORE I kicked it!



Daddy: And why is this wall here? You knew I was going to smash my head into it!

Mommy: And these bricks! You knew I was going to punch them!

Daddy: And this sand paper! You knew I was going to scratch my face with it!

Mommy: And these drawers! You knew I was going to pinch my fingers in them.

Daddy: And this Hell’s Angel biker! You knew I would run off with him when I turned 17.



Yeah, Daddy took it too far, yet again. (I do that…)
No, she never asked, “Daddy, what’s a Harley?” Thank God.

On Being Famous (Feb 13, 2012)

Five-year-old Isabella pointing at Paul McCartney on TV:



Iz: Daddy, is he famous?

Me: Oh, yes. Very famous. One of the most famous people in the world.

Iz: How do you be famous?

Me: Well, you have to be really smart and work hard and do good things and have lots of talent… Or, be a Kardashian.

Lynn (distantly, from the studio): I never want to hear that word in this house again!


Me: Sorry, dear…

Dr. Seuss (Jan 14, 2012)

7-year-old Julianna reading Dr. Seuss:

J: “Some are this and some are that. Some are old and some are fat.”

Me: Wait a minute. Why did you look at me when you said “old” and “fat?”

J: Um… I, uh, was looking at my doll.

Me: Really?

Isabella (5-yo), always helpful: Daddy, it’s because you’re fat fat FAT!

Me: Ouch.

Iz: And Oooooold. Hahahahahaha.



And so begins my Saturday.

Happy/Mad (Dec 23, 2011)

Snuggling down with 7-year old Julianna (I’m paraphrasing here…):



J: Daddy, you’re the best Daddy ever. I love you so much.

Me: Oh, how sweet! You make me incredibly happy, even when you make me insanely angry.

J: (Blink, Blink.) Um… You make no sense. You’re weird. 

Me: Someday, you’ll understand…

J: Whatever. Good night.

Held Hostage (Nov 13, 2011)

Four-year-old Isabella held me hostage last night. After singing her a lullaby and gently scratching her back, I tried to slip out of her bed. “Daddy,” she whispered, “I want to snuggle.” 



Over the next few hours, I tried to make my escape many times, only to be summoned back with that faint whisper: I want to snuggle.



Finally, at 3:00 a.m. I made a break for it. Silently slipping out of her bed, I tip-toed to my room.



At daybreak, I realized I was clinging to the last inches of the edge of the bed. There was a cold foot on my leg, a knee in my kidney, an elbow jammed in my spine, and the warm, pulsing, rhythmic breath of the four-year-old captor on my neck.



“Hey, how did you get there?” I asked.


“I wasn’t finished snuggling,” she said as she drifted back to sleep.



Tonight, our game continues.