Mornings with Children

One Dad

Two Children
Two Events
Chronicled Here
For 30 Days
Tune in….
Today my son awoke with so much piss and vinegar, I would have sworn that some mad scientist had injected him with an anger serum over night.  “HULK SMASH” he seemed to scream as he ran through the house punching walls and slamming doors.  I’ve never seen him like this; I mean, in fairness, I’ve seen him throw fits but I’ve never seen THIS.  My initial instinct was to throw holy water on the tot and see if it began to burn but only after remembering that I wasn’t Catholic did I resort to Plan B: Timeout Time!  It’s a catchy phrase I’ve come up with and I like it because it reminds me of a bonus challenge that you’ve won on a game show.  That game show is my life and that bonus challenge is, “Son, you’re going to sit in your crib until you calm down.  Goodbye”.
Five completely silent minutes later I return to his room and find that he’s shoved his weiner between the bars of his crib and peed all over the floor like one of Hannibal Lecter’s cell mates.  Remember that dark brick hallway Starling has to walk down in Silence of the Lambs and it’s filled with a bunch of madmen?  That’s my kid.  Or at least it was this morning.
I think it’s a full moon.
Tomorrow should be calmer.
My daughter is always pleased to see me.  She greets me every morning with a smile and a “HI!” and in that regard, she is very similar to my cocker spaniel.  I lift her out of the crib, take off her wet pajamas and slap her butt, telling her to “Go find mom”.  She grabs her favorite blanket and runs into the kitchen.  My wife puts our daughter onto a chair and gives her a “Big Girl Cup” which, to me, sounds like a bra size but I decide to not make mention of it.
This morning my wife and I have decided that the sippy cups have to go.  They get shoved under the couches and hidden in corners for days, nay weeks, only to be found once the milk has turned to cheese.  “ENOUGH!” we shouted in unison before hi-fiving.  These kids are drinking from cups.  End. Of. Story.
My daughter pours milk down her chest, trying to operate this futuristic technology.  My son punches the cup.  I go to work.

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