….And Downhill We Go

Just when I’m wrenching my arm out patting myself on the back for raising an independent and strong little girl, you pulled the rug right out from under me.

Cookie:  Look, Daddy, I’m pushing my imaginary stroller.

Me:  Uh huh.

Cookie: It’s got a seat up here, and one up here, and one up here, and one up here, and one back there, and one back there, and one down there, and one down there.

Me …4, 5, 6..: Cookie, you’ve got 8 kids?!?

Cookie: Almost, I have one still in my tummy.

Me:  Wow, Cookie, that means you’re going to be very busy.

Cookie:  Yeah, I’ll need two kitchens to cook for my kids and my husband.

Mommy:  Your husband doesn’t cook?

Cookie:  No, he has to work.  I’m staying home to raise the kids.

Mommy: !

Cookie:  It’s a big house with two kitchens.  He makes a lot of money. We’ll get married at 19.

Me: [facepalm].

I see that we have a lot of work to do.

Little Ms. Fix-It and the Crash

My blissful Sunday morning sleep was interrupted by a jarring CRASH.  I’m still groggy and blinking the sleep from my eyes when the bedroom door opens.

Cookie holding out a hand:  Everything is ok.

Cookie:  Do you know what that crash was?

Mommy and I sleepily shake our heads.

Cookie: That was my Rubik’s Cube.  Don’t worry, I’ll fix it with my tools.

The sounds of your little footsteps running down the hall are followed immediately by the sounds of hammering.

Three warring thoughts enter my head.

I’m so proud that you’re going to know your way around tools.  I tend to fix things around the house, and you’ve always followed me around asking to help, and you’ve always been disappointed when I asked you not to touch the heavy or sharp tools and the less than healthy chemicals  (responsible parenting isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be).  After we bought you your own toolset, however, you proudly carried that thing around the house looking for to fix.  That’s my girl.

Proud as I am, there’s a little nagging worry in my head (I’m such the responsible parent, as you know) about that loud crash.  What happened?  What did you break?  You’re obviously not extensively injured, since you walked over and told us so.  There’s no smell of smoke.  I guess I don’t feel so bad if I…

Sleep.  Blissful sleep… for three more minutes.

Slight Lego Addiction

I may have a slight Lego addiction.  Slight.  It works out quite well that that you’ve come along, Cookie.  I now have an excuse to buy more toys when I go shopping.  When you go shopping with Mommy, you can honestly tell Mommy that I said it was ok to buy that new set.  We may have taken over the living room with little prickly pieces and entire development projects without proper zoning approvals (see header).

My Lego addiction may also have been slightly contagious.  Slightly.  Over the past couple months our little project mushroomed.  A little.  A lot.  It’s taller than you are, and you had to stand on a chair to help with the tower.  It may have changed your outlook on the world, too.  The toy that you wanted most from Disney World wasn’t an Elsa doll, or ears, or a princess costume.  Nope, you wanted a sword and shield (in pink of course).


Lego Friends Complaint

Dear Lego,

I have a complaint about the Lego Friends line of toys.  It’s not the usual one about gender stereotyping (though as a parent I have to do extra work to unchain the limiting play aspects of this line, but fortunately as a long time Lego customer, I have enough bricks to allow my girl to create a world of imagination and adventure on her own).  It’s not about the body image of the minifigs, though, for some reason, boys get the classic, blocky people while girls get the thinner, Barbie-distortion ones.  It’s not even a complaint that the armor, backpacks and other body wear don’t work across the two Lego products.  Nope.

Do you know how hard it is for a procrastinating dad with OCD to wrap the damn Lego Friends boxes at 2 AM on Christmas morning?  Do you really need the oblong edges?



Infantile Flatulence Foolery

Cookie: Daddy, my butt itches.  I have a rash and need ointment.

Daddy: Cookie, your butt looks fine.

Cookie: No, it itches.  Look closer.

*looks closer*


Cookie: Haha! Got you, Daddy!

Three reactions instantly popped into my head.

First, argggbublglglglglgglgl!  I never got over how ungodly, eye-watering stenches could emanate from such a cute baby.  (Yes, my nose was blessedly fortunate as you were toilet trained at about the time your pea soup diaper deposits were changing, so no, I never got used to the smell.)

Second, immense pride.  As one practical joker to another, that was truly impressive for toddler that hadn’t even turned two.  I can’t believe that you concocted the entire sequence and then set me up with a completely straight face.  After many years of witnessing guys making uninspired attempts of “smell this,” being caught like this by my beautiful little daughter was AWESOME.

Third, I didn’t know this side existed for girls.  Sugar and spice aside, you’ll soon be in a world where women hide the existence of necessary bodily functions for months in a relationship.  Advice for the future you: don’t.  A guy who can’t appreciate the humor isn’t worth the trouble.

As you may have noticed, Cookie, many of these first posts are of a scatological nature.  Eating and pooping are very important to new parents (Many websites and doctors recommend digital scales.  For the baby!  Ew.), and since Mommy was primarily in charge of inputs in your early life (I lack the functional equipment to assist in that department  –Mommy insisted on feeding from the tap), I was primarily in charge of outputs.  At least that’s my excuse.  It has nothing to do with my immature sense of humor whatsoever.  Those high fives that I may or may not have given you when you let one near Mommy after this particular episode?  Didn’t happen.  Not that you can prove, anyway.