“Bankruptcy” and “Cancer.” If our stockbrokers and doctors lived in our house, we’d be running to their room every night, too.
Of course, some kids aren’t afraid of monsters at all. My three-year-old, Katie, wants to sleep in her bed with monster dolls and be told stories of zombies and werewolves. Maybe she is just the type of person who literally is “embracing her fears.” I’m not exactly sure why one kid in particular is so scared of monsters, but he’s waking me up almost every night to tell me they’re there. And like any good parent, I explain to him that there are no monsters, but if he doesn’t get back in bed, I’m going to let the monsters in his room.
Nothing in Common
I’m not a man with many hobbies. Besides eating, sleeping, watching an occasional football game, and, of course, eating, I just like spending time with my children, although I’m consistently amazed at how little I truly have in common with them. I’m comfortable with the fact that a two-year-old doesn’t really grasp the “hide” or the “seek” part of hide and seek. And I’m not expecting to watch
The Wire
with an eight-year-old, but I would think there would be some overlap in interests. I realize their time on this planet has been short and sophistication is not something they can even pronounce, but I’m constantly stunned by our lack of commonalities. Nothing in my life has ever been as important as pushing the elevator button is to my three-year-old.
My six-year-old son, Jack, actually doesn’t like mashed potatoes. Yes, mashed potatoes, one of the greatest things on earth. The ice cream of potatoes. I know, I didn’t think it waspossible either. He of course loves french fries, hash browns, and baked potatoes, but mashed potatoes might as well be sewer sludge. “Ewww, mashed potatoes!” Little kids simply have bad taste in everything.
Little kids’ taste in clothing is baffling. I’m not a big believer in fashion, but I know that if you ask a three-year-old boy to pick something out to wear to the park, the outfit will definitely clash and most likely not include pants. “Okay, why don’t we wear pants and a shirt instead of a pair of goggles and a hat.”
Little kids are the only sober human beings for the past fifty years to enjoy a parade. And it’s not for kitsch appeal. People walking down the middle of the street to a drumbeat are fascinating to them. I always end up with the heaviest kid on my shoulders, watching the back of someone’s neck get sunburned. It’s no picnic.
Any time you eat outside with a kid, it’s a “picnic.” Kids love picnics, or, as I call them, “eating uncomfortably on the ground while swatting flies away from your food.”
Little kids’ taste in music is just as baffling. That Barney song, really? It’s a total rip-off of a million other bad songs, and
Barney
gets the credit? I smell a lawsuit. My three-year-old daughter, Katie, figured this out subconsciously because she frequently does her own mashups of these obviously plagiarized tunes.
[
Singing
] “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy fam-i-ly, with a knick-knack paddy-whack, give a dog a bone, this old man … is com-ing to town!”
They love all these horrible songs that are often aboutother people’s misery. Everyone knows that “Ring Around the Rosie” is about people dying of plague. The “Old MacDonald” song is clearly about some poor farmer who lost his farm to foreclosure. He
had
a farm. Why doesn’t he have a farm anymore? The economy. Yet little kids smile and clap as they sing it. It’s just cruel.
A small child’s taste in movies is just as atrocious. You know you’ll do anything for your kids when you find yourself paying twelve dollars a ticket to see
The Smurfs
. If you liked some of the movies toddlers liked, you’d definitely keep it to yourself. I brought my kids to see
Yogi Bear
. At the end, my then four-year-old son, Jack, popped out of his chair and said,
Of course, some kids aren’t afraid of monsters at all. My three-year-old, Katie, wants to sleep in her bed with monster dolls and be told stories of zombies and werewolves. Maybe she is just the type of person who literally is “embracing her fears.” I’m not exactly sure why one kid in particular is so scared of monsters, but he’s waking me up almost every night to tell me they’re there. And like any good parent, I explain to him that there are no monsters, but if he doesn’t get back in bed, I’m going to let the monsters in his room.
Nothing in Common
I’m not a man with many hobbies. Besides eating, sleeping, watching an occasional football game, and, of course, eating, I just like spending time with my children, although I’m consistently amazed at how little I truly have in common with them. I’m comfortable with the fact that a two-year-old doesn’t really grasp the “hide” or the “seek” part of hide and seek. And I’m not expecting to watch
The Wire
with an eight-year-old, but I would think there would be some overlap in interests. I realize their time on this planet has been short and sophistication is not something they can even pronounce, but I’m constantly stunned by our lack of commonalities. Nothing in my life has ever been as important as pushing the elevator button is to my three-year-old.
My six-year-old son, Jack, actually doesn’t like mashed potatoes. Yes, mashed potatoes, one of the greatest things on earth. The ice cream of potatoes. I know, I didn’t think it waspossible either. He of course loves french fries, hash browns, and baked potatoes, but mashed potatoes might as well be sewer sludge. “Ewww, mashed potatoes!” Little kids simply have bad taste in everything.
Little kids’ taste in clothing is baffling. I’m not a big believer in fashion, but I know that if you ask a three-year-old boy to pick something out to wear to the park, the outfit will definitely clash and most likely not include pants. “Okay, why don’t we wear pants and a shirt instead of a pair of goggles and a hat.”
Little kids are the only sober human beings for the past fifty years to enjoy a parade. And it’s not for kitsch appeal. People walking down the middle of the street to a drumbeat are fascinating to them. I always end up with the heaviest kid on my shoulders, watching the back of someone’s neck get sunburned. It’s no picnic.
Any time you eat outside with a kid, it’s a “picnic.” Kids love picnics, or, as I call them, “eating uncomfortably on the ground while swatting flies away from your food.”
Little kids’ taste in music is just as baffling. That Barney song, really? It’s a total rip-off of a million other bad songs, and
Barney
gets the credit? I smell a lawsuit. My three-year-old daughter, Katie, figured this out subconsciously because she frequently does her own mashups of these obviously plagiarized tunes.
[
Singing
] “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy fam-i-ly, with a knick-knack paddy-whack, give a dog a bone, this old man … is com-ing to town!”
They love all these horrible songs that are often aboutother people’s misery. Everyone knows that “Ring Around the Rosie” is about people dying of plague. The “Old MacDonald” song is clearly about some poor farmer who lost his farm to foreclosure. He
had
a farm. Why doesn’t he have a farm anymore? The economy. Yet little kids smile and clap as they sing it. It’s just cruel.
A small child’s taste in movies is just as atrocious. You know you’ll do anything for your kids when you find yourself paying twelve dollars a ticket to see
The Smurfs
. If you liked some of the movies toddlers liked, you’d definitely keep it to yourself. I brought my kids to see
Yogi Bear
. At the end, my then four-year-old son, Jack, popped out of his chair and said,
Similar Books
