Pretty Please

An open letter to my 4-year-old: I'm not sure what kind of wackado ice cream place you frequent, but when begging for something, I can say without a doubt that you're never going to convince me (or anyone else I imagine) to change my mind when you yell, "Please, please, pretty please with ice cream and sugar and hot fudge and guacamole on top!" You're just not. So stop it. You're grossing me out every time you say it.

Easter Eggs

Sure they'll happily spend 10 minutes looking for and successfully finding 50 individually hidden plastic eggs in the backyard, but ask them to find one pair of shoes in their rooms and 15 seconds later they give up in a fit of extreme whining and insist you "help" them while they start playing with whatever toy is sitting right next to them. Oh my god ... I just realized that I act just like my kids. I guess they had to learn it from someone.

Check

My 9-year-old wrote me a check. I told her that I didn't think it would work because she didn't sign it. I mean, I don't know ... it's been a long time since I've actually written a check. Maybe things have changed? I'll keep you posted ... if all goes well at the bank, lunch may be on me today!

Agreement

The kids and the dog seem to have an agreement. They keep forgetting to put the toilet lid down and he gets all the water he can drink.

The Roof

For several years now, whenever my kids call out for me at home and ask where I am, my stock reply has been "I'm on the roof!" I'm not sure why I continue to say that because they never actually fall for it. I guess that's a good thing because I'm sure they'd somehow figure out how to get up there to look for me in the matter of seconds. Something involving a structure made up of all the chairs in our house and some string, no doubt. And no, I'm not joking.

"Boobs"

And now ... an open letter (or note) to my 9-year-old, who keeps referring to the chest area on my body as my "boobs." I must insist that you stop doing this. Especially in public. They are NOT "boobs" -- uh, I mean, IT ... IT is not. On a man, IT is called a chest. Now for the very last time: This very manly, appropriately (yet not overly) hairy, somewhat muscular area on my body is called my CHEST. And, by the way, my eyes are up here. Thank you very much.