Shotgunned By 20 Questions From A 7-Year-Old

A few days ago the boy came down with a 102 fever.

Typically he man-handles the fever, throws it on the floor and tells it that “your mom’s so fat she wears a VCR as a beeper.”

But this time, the fever got the better of him and stuck around for a while.

So, the next day we call the doctor, set an appointment, and a couple hours later I’m on my way to get the boy looked over.

It was upon this journey that the he unleashed a fury questions that almost had me comatose, crying, and begging to just be put out of my misery.

Hell Hath No Fury Like 20 Questions Shotgunned From A 7-Year-Old

“What are they going to do to me daddy?”

“Take your temperature, listen to you breathe, listen to your heart, and probably…”

“Will I have to take my shirt off?”

“I don’t know buddy, probably.”

“And my pants?”

“I doubt it. You’re sick around your throat so I doubt they’ll…”

“I remember going to the doctor one time and I got down to my undies and then the doctor pulled them out and looked down at my pee-pee. And she was A WOMAN!!! Will I get a shot?”

“Yes, probably in the neck.”

“DADDY ARE YOU SERIOUS?!!!”

“No dude…I’m kidding. No, you probably won’t get a shot.”

“Will I ever get a shot again in my life?”

“Yes, we’ll be getting one as a family in the next few months before flu season.”

“REALLY? Will they do it in the arm or in the leg?”

“Probably in the leg, Grayson.”

“Will it bruise me?”

“I don’t know, but if you ask me another…”

“What causes bruising?”

“Well, the shot breaks the skin which injures it and causes it to bruise on some people. I think.”

“Do I have the flu right now?”

“No Grayson, I seriously doubt you have the flu. It’s not…”

“How do you know? You’re not a doctor?”

“Why did you ask me then?”

“Do you think mommy bruises?”

“I know she bruises dude. That’s why she’s always running away from me?”

“Because you bruise her? That’s mean daddy.”

“No…no…not like that. I meant…just, you know what, let’s listen to some music and just relax for a bit dude.”

“Will they have bathrooms there?”

“Seriously? You seriously want to know if they have…”

“What if I have to go boom boom while she’s taking my temperature?”

“Ok, now you’re just being ridiculous. Do you want me to stop and get you a diaper?”

“DADDY!!! NO!!! But…can we stop and make Macy wear one?”

“Want to play the quiet game with me?”

“Will my doctor be a woman?”

“Yes, all the doctors here are women.”

“Will they take my pants down?”

(I mumble) “No, but daddy might take his pants down if…”

“What daddy?”

“Nothing, I was just thinking out-loud.”

“About the doctor?”

“Yes Grayson…about the doctor…hey look…something shiny out the window!!!”

We arrived a short time later. This, my dear readers is one of many reasons why I sometimes fall asleep crying almost every night.

Volkswagen Made My Daughter Mike Tyson

“Blue One”

“Red One”

That’s the kind of crap I’ve been hearing bellowing from my daughter’s mouth just seconds before she unleashes her tiny, knuckle-clad fist towards my old-man arms, legs, calf, back, or whatever is closest to her fury.

And it always happens when I’m in the middle of something and absolutely oblivious to what’s about to go down.

So the first time it happened I was cooking in the kitchen. Next thing I know I hear, “red one!” and WHAM!!! I feel something akin to a shot in the side of my upper hamstring.

“Ooooh…Macy…what are you doing?!!” I yell.

“Blue one!” she yelled as she slammed her right fist into my hip.

That’s when I realized she was reenacting the Volkswagen commercials! In my kitchen!!

Our kitchen only has two windows, neither of which over-look any street that might carry anything that could possibly even resemble a motor-vehicle. She was totally ripping off marketing genius to kick the ever living hell out of me.

My first reaction? Scream, “green one” and drop her to her knees.

But then, I remembered she’s my daughter…not my brother.

How could I get mad at her? She was victim to a catchy commercial that promotes pounding on someone because you saw a car drive by.

That’s like getting mad a Corona for its commercials showing the wife spraying lime juice in her husband’s eyes for watching a group of sexy ladies in bikinis walk by as he vacations.

I could never get mad at such a delicious frosty beverage. (Pppppssssttt…Corona….step over here…email me at whyisdaddycrying(at)gmail(dot)com to advertise yo!!).

Maybe I should be upset at myself for letting her watch a volume of TV that would result in her memorizing certain commercials. Or for forgetting to put my clothes in the drier last night so that could wear that sexy Hawaiian shirt with the hula girl on the front that I just know everyone loves to see me in.

Regardless…my precious angel was just doing what kids do – act as a sponge, soaking up every bit of information surrounding her, most of which without even realizing it.

Understanding that I kindly patted her on her head, bent down to her eye-level and said, “Macy…I love you baby. I understand you saw that on TV and are just repeating it. But it’s not OK to hit, OK baby?”

“OK daddy.”

Proud of myself I stood back up and watched her walk away. I’d knocked another killer parenting moment right out of the…

“Brown one!” and the feeling of a mini hammer coming down on my left quadricep almost dropped me to my knees as I noticed my son standing beside me.

Birthday Cake & Boobies

Last night I laid in bed with the boy like I always do, shooting the shit, making him laugh, making up stories...

Ten minutes later the wife hopped in bed to say good night. One minute later the daughter jumped in too.

For the next 10 minutes “boobs” were focus of this unique impromptu family gathering. And here’s how it went:

Daughter: “Grayson, you remember the story about you pooping and getting a birthday cake?”

Me: “You mean when we promised brother we’d give him a whole cake if he ever pooped in the toilet instead of his diaper?”

Wife: “And he did!”

Daughter: “Why didn’t I get any of that cake daddy?!!”

Me: “You did. Trust me…you were a baby, mommy chowed down on that cake and you got it through mommy’s milk!”

Son: “Hahaha you drank birthday cake through mommy’s boobies!! Haha”

Me: “Umm soo did you chief. For 13 months you drank from mom’s boob.”

Son: “NO I DIDN’T!!!”

Daughter: “Haha Grayson drank mommy’s boobie!”

Wife: “So did you dear…for six months you drank from my boobies.”

Son: “Yeah!!!!! See Macy…haha…you drank on mommy’s boobs, too!”

Daughter: “Yeah, but I got birthday cake!”

Son: “Daddy did you get any birthday cake through mommy’s boobies?”

Despite my natural desire to want to answer the question with exaggerated stories surrounding the glories breasts of my wife, I (for once) looked at my wife and reacted accordingly to her “say one word and I’ll cut you” glare.

Me: “No son…I have never, nor will I ever have cake from mommy’s boobies.”

Wife: “That was one of the most painful things you’ve ever done wasn’t it?”

Me: “You have no idea. I need to be alone for a while.”

Wife: “Just make sure you clean-up afterwards.”

Son: “Why does daddy need to be alone mommy?”

Wife: “Your daddy really really LOVES birthday cake and talking about it really made him want some.”

Daughter: “Do you have birthday cake in your boobies right now mommy?”

Wife: “No dear, mommy’s boobies have all dried up and are purely ornamental at this point.”

Son: “Your boobs are like ornaments on a tree?”

Wife: “Ummm…yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Son: “You’ve got big ornaments mommy.”

Wife: “OK…and with that let’s go to bed kids!!”

The Negotiator

I called the local police department today to see if they needed a spot filled on their S.W.A.T. team—specifically the role of negotiator. Because holy shit the boy has that down to an art.

Take a small, harmless pack of gummies for instance.

The boy wants gummies. I’m cooking dinner, plan to serve it to the boy in 10 minutes, and therefore I am quick to deny the young heathen his delicious gummies.

I then get hit with, “Ok, but daddy…can I just explain something? See, you packed me gummies in my lunch box for today and I didn’t eat them all, in fact I didn’t even touch them, so then I should still be able to eat them right now cause I didn’t touch them at lunch so can I have them?”

And I look down at the boy and say, “Grayson…for the love of all things Mario Kart…NO!!”

“Yeah, but daddy…can I just say something? They’re really small and won’t take up much room in my belly and I KNOW I’ll eat my dinner so why can’t I just have them now?”

Gripping the spatula with all my might and grinding my teeth to nubs I turn and say, “Grayson…do you see what I’m doing?”

“Yes.”

“What am I doing son?”

“Making food.”

“That’s right. I’m making our dinner. Our dinner Grayson. The bountiful feast we will be shoving into our mouths in less than eight minutes now. You cannot have gummies and if you ask me again, I’ll take each of the gummies and melt them one-by-one right in front of you until they’re a big melty puddle of liquid gummy remains. Kapish?!”

The boy’s head is looking at his feet now as he feels defeat nearing. He realizes he’s got nothing…and he sure as hell doesn’t want to risk the lives of his delicious multi-colored fruit gummy snack because he knows my last statement was anything but a bluff. So he walks out of the kitchen.

But, before I could get halfway through patting myself on the back for a rare victory won without raising my voice against the boy, I see his little red haired head bob right back into the kitchen…only, he’s holding something.

“Hey daddy. What’s for dinner?”

“Stir fry.”

“Oh…sounds good. Hey daddy. I brought you some gummy snacks to have,” he says innocently as he holds out his unopened bag of gummies from his lunch box.

“Sweet! Thanks man,” I say as I grab them from his hand, open them, and empty them all into my mouth at once.

“DADDY!!!!! That was MEAN daddy!!! You knew I wanted those gummies and you ATE them all!!”

I immediately feel the vicious blade from the “worst parent in the world” dagger slide into my gut as I see elephant tears fill the boy’s eyes. I quickly drop to a knee and reveal to him that I faked pounding back the bag of gummies. Then seeing that did nothing to squelch the onslaught of depression and anger towards me I handed him the bag and said, “go down to the basement, kill this bag of gummies, and don’t tell your mother.”

Five minutes later a dim-watted light-bulb above my head spewing sparks and smoke signified that it had finally sunk-in that the little bastard had just made me his bitch. And I knew at that very moment he was sitting in the basement, slowly enjoying his gummies, and marking another notch on his secret score sheet for himself.

Grayson 137     Daddy 0

I've Been Reviewed!

Yesterday I had the amazing privilege of having my blog reviewed by a great daddy blogger Stay At Home Dad in Lansing (@tessasdad on Twitter, Chris in real life). This cool cat made a commitment at the beginning of this year to review a dad blog every Sunday throughout the year.

I was shocked earlier in the week when I saw he’d chosen my interweb machine thingy site. So I sat back nervously, fingers crossed, hoping he wouldn’t toss out phrases like:

“This hack douchebag of a father should not only be locked-up and beaten with baby tigers, but his website should be shutdown and used only for torturing terrorists.”

“The last time I read something as awful as this prick’s blog was when I was forced to read journal entries from Octomom during her pregnancy.”

It was like taking my clothes off for a girl for the first time. I was overwhelmingly excited, nervous, and checking out my junk obsessively in the hopes everything would look perfect for the big reveal.

Then yesterday the review was posted and it absolutely humbled me beyond all means. It was thoughtful, insightful, and just a very well written review. Chris had clearly taken the time to plow through the many posts I’ve written and get a great handle on exactly what I’d hoped to communicate through my ramblings.

To read his review: CLICK HERE.

And sign up for my man’s RSS feed because he’s got some great stuff going on at his blog. He is an amazingly passionate father, insightful human being, and damn good at capturing all of it in a well-written blog. Enjoy kids!

And thanks again Chris!