Thank you for making car rides easier, play time lengthier and our house quieter.
We hate you.
You have made bed time the single-worst hour of our lives. The sheer number of times “Likeada Queen” and “Figment Missle” need to be played with, hugged, kissed, put to bed, thrown in the toy basket, and finally, staged as guards of the boys’ bedroom is staggering. We go through this process roughly 6-7 times a night. It’s exhausting and not cute. At all. And we are near a boiling point.
So, please, do us a favor and shut it down. No more movies, no more lunch pails, no more coloring books.
So Page has been looking into weekend activity options for Ford. She’s been gravitating toward dance/martial arts ideas, while I’ve been trying to find a soccer team that accepts three-year-olds with shorter attention spans than 15-year-olds. So far, Page has a laundry list of options, while all I’ve run into are sports leagues that start at age four. Do none of these people have three-year-olds they need to dump somewhere?!?
This brings us to today…when Page tells me that we’re getting a free test-drive from a dance studio in Durham. I could go on and on about the experience, but all you need to see is the video below. Suffice it to say that Ford wasn’t all that interested.
Truly one of the funniest moments we’ve had as parents. This actually went on for about 10 minutes, until the poor instructor looked up at the camera with an expression of disgust and helplessness. We would have bailed her out, but we were too busy…
…cleaning up the human oil spill named Cal. You see, he was too young for the class, so he spent the hour spraying the studio’s brochures all over the waiting room and chucking my completely full coffee across the floor. I’ve never seen tutus scatter that fast in my life.
"This scalding coffee feels refreshing on my face, Daddy!"
Needless to say, it was a memorable Saturday. Big ups to the Riccobonos and Nelsons for putting up with us. Finally, I’ll leave you with a picture of the boys going down a slide with static cling hair, because…well, because no matter how old you are, static cling hair is funny.
Optical illusion: While that hair may look wind-blown, the children are actually in a stationary position.
Trying to get Ford to consistently sit on the toilet (I still have trouble saying “potty.” It’s a guy thing. Same reason I avoid “cute” and “vaginal delivery”) has been a challenge. One minute he’s into it, the next minute he acts like its lined with barbed wire. We’ve even reverted to bribery. Which brings me to the exchange we just had after he woke up from his nap:
Page: OK, Ford time to change your butt! (editor’s note: yeah, that’s what we call diaper changes)
Jake: We’ll give you a treat if you just go sit on the toilet…
Page: Just call it a potty.
Two minutes pass…
Page: OK, Ford, seriously, it’s time. You’ve got two choices. One, we go change your diaper. Two, we go to the potty.
Ford: [weighing his options]
Jake: Come on, Ford.
Ford: Um…I want to go change my diaper and get a treat.
Page and Jake: [blank stares and stunned silence]
WNCN-TV Morning Host Phil Sanchez holds the Dads hostage with a Louisville Slugger and tells them how to turn a double play, how to live through Prohibition, and what it takes to survive living in New Jersey. […]