Sometimes parenting is hard.
This weekend, exactly 2 weeks before Christmas, my 6 year old figured out that there is no Santa.
As in a fat man, dressed in red, who enters our house and leaves presents. Instead, Mommy and Daddy continue the tradition started by St.Nicholas in the middle ages, of giving gifts on the eve of Christ’s birth to remind people of the greatest gift that was given to us by God.
The whole “naughty & nice list” thing, however, IS still in effect, and is kept by those who ARE actually watching when you’re good or bad, and KNOW when you’re asleep or awake.
It also means that when Mommy is Kissing Santa Claus, she is not actually committing adultery.
Unless it’s the Santa at the mall. Then mommy goes on the naughty list and gets divorce papers for Christmas.
The evening was filled with much drama, mainly from mommy not getting to see her friend at the mall anymore, but also from the 6 year old who learned that growing up sucks reindeer balls.
For good measure, and to prevent having to relive the drama in the months ahead, I told him the same was true of the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy.
I’m an awesome dad!
Sometimes parenting is embarrassing.
Folks, I rarely get embarrassed. Usually when it happens, my kids are the cause.
Case in point.
Sunday morning, while sitting in the front of the church right before the service starts, and all is quiet as a mouse, the following takes place:
Lily (2 years old): “See my Wiggle, Daddy?”
Me: “I do. It that Greg?” (In my defense, he was missing his colored shirt.)
Lily: “No, it’s Anthony!”
Me: “Oh? It is?”
Lily: “YES! I’m going to change his pants. And see his weenie!”
*snickering behind us*
Me: “Sssh! He doesn’t have a weenie, because he’s a doll.”
Lily: “I have a weenie!”
*more snickering behind us*
Me: “Sssssh! No you don’t, honey.”
Lily: “No, I have a pee! Sammy (brother) has a weenie! Max (brother) has a weenie! I have a pee!”
*laughing behind us*
Me: “Ssssssssh! Yes, that is correct.”
Lily: “YOU have a weenie! I’m going to touch your weenie!”
Me: *moving away quickly* “NO! Ssssssssssssh! We don’t talk about weenies at church! And we DEFINITELY don’t touch other peoples weenies at church! We are NOT Catholic!”
Me: “Where is your mother?!”
Sometimes parenting is funny
*cuddling on the couch with the wife, while the boys beat each other up in the next room*
Wife: “That sounds like trouble.”
Me: “No crying yet, so we’re good.”
Wife: *yelling* “Settle down in there! Max,you better not be playing with that wood again!”
Wife: “It belongs under your bed!”
Me & Wife: *snickering*
Wife: “Max, stop playing with the wood!”
Me & Wife: *laughing*
Me: “You’re so naughty.”
Wife: “It’s your fault.”
Me: “ME?! I was waiting for you to tell him he’d go blind if he didn’t stop.”
(For clarification, the “wood” is one of the 1x4 mattress supports from under the bed. Perverts.)