Cookie: Daddy, why does the cup that I use to brush my teeth say, “Killian’s Irish Red?”
Oh good, the internal dad filter is working today.
[Because sake bombs tricks are fun to try.]
Nope. Swing and a miss.
[Because double shot glasses (plastic, of course) are the perfect size for toddlers.]
Better, but I don’t want to answer what double shots are.
Me: Look, Cookie, don’t you like the horsey on the cup?
At least toddlers have the attention span of …. SQUIRREL!
Cookie, ever since the day you came into my life, I knew that every waking moment would revolve around you. I guess I’m still adjusting to what that means.
Mommy: Honey, for Thanksgiving, we’ve invited Vanessa, Sophia, Larissa, and Eric.
Me: [No problem. I can cook for four. Wait. Mommy just named four of your friends, Cookie. Some days, I’m quick like that.]
Me: So that’s fourteen people coming!?!
Mommy: Sophia’s uncle and grandmother too.
Somewhere along the way, my friends became replaced with the parents of your friends, Cookie. When did that happen?
Cookie: May I invite Isla over for a playdate?
Cookie: Are you sure our place is clean enough?
(Don’t tell Mommy I said this, but she’s the hoarder. I’m bad about not throwing things out, but she takes it to another level. Jeff Foxworthy said that you may be a redneck if you have a set of salad bowls made by Cool Whip. We have a set of blue toddler snack trays made by Gerber and another green set made by Sprout. It’s not that we don’t have porcelain dishes and bowls; it’s, as your mother puts it, “a waste of good plastic.” Don’t tell Mommy, but I do try to send them to the recycling bin whenever she’s not looking. It has nothing to do with having one less thing to wash.)
There was a crying infant (three, four months?) in the subway, attended to by a frazzled mother and her friend. “She’s obviously still thirsty,” said one. “She can’t be,” said the other, “she finished all of her Dew.” “Well, give her more,” replied the other. “Ok.” The mother opened the infant’s bottle, poured in some of her Mountain Dew, and gave the thing back to the baby. “I don’t understand why she’s not napping. Babies are supposed to nap.”
It was like watching a live episode of Springer. As ignorant as I was about raising an infant, at least I didn’t overload sugar and caffeine and wonder why the tot isn’t sleeping. I wonder if these parents ever looked at someone else and thought to themselves that at least they didn’t drop the baby. And maybe those parents looked at the wolf-raised kids and felt better of their little football. Schadenfreude, the coping mechanism of the clueless.