Trying out five-year-old Isabella’s hula hoop, it drops around Daddy’s feet.
Iz: That’s Ok, Daddy. I think you need a bigger hula hoop.
Me: A bigger one? Why?
Iz: Because I have a small tummy, and your tummy is a LOT bigger than mine.
Me: Well, what size should I get?
Iz: I dunno. What’s the biggest size they have? You should get that one.
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….
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.
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…
I know you’ve seen those home improvement and restaurant redesign shows where the host is yelling and screaming at the end that they are out of time, right? Dear Producers: These are your shows. You are in control. And, this happens every week. Why don’t you just give yourselves more time? You can do that, you know.
7-year-old Julianna practicing her reading skills by telling me what the supermarket aisle signs say. Things go well until Aisle 12…
J: “Feminine Needs.” Daddy, what does that even mean. What are THEY?
Me: Well, Honey… Um, since I work for Disney, I think I’m required to say: a Handsome Prince and Talking Animal Sidekicks.
J: (Blink.) Daaaaaaad! Why are you like that?
Yes, I know. Wrong aisle number. I was at a different store when I had my camera. So there, Mr. Gottacorrectsomeonestein.
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.
Isabella (5-yo), always helpful: Daddy, it’s because you’re fat fat FAT!
Iz: And Oooooold. Hahahahahaha.
And so begins my Saturday.
Wait until I regale you with the tale of my trip to the dentist. You will laugh, you will cry, you will wonder why the Sheriff’s Department abandoned me in my time of need, and you will wonder about Eduardo’s sex dungeon. I need to collect my thoughts.
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.
While making my world-famous Spanish arroz con pollo, I didn’t quite wash all of the onion and garlic residue from my hands before rubbing my eyes. Moments later…
Isabella (the four-year-old): Daddy, why are you crying?
Me: Please, Honey. I’m just trying to cook.
Isabella: But… Food shouldn’t make you sad.
Me: What? Are you Dr. Phil?
Isabella: I’m just sayin’…. (As she left to watch another episode of Rugrats.)