Father Of The Year
Well yesterday afternoon just may have secured me a Father Of The Year Award. I got off of work early and picked up the kids. A great start to the weekend so far, right?
We get home, I get M her usual drink and snack and start her favorite tv show. I take B into the other living room and he sits with me on the couch. I flip through the channels and find the typical early afternoon blah of nothing to watch. So what to do? Why not fire up the PS3 and play a little Call of Duty? So there I was getting my ass kicked online by a bunch of teenagers with Baby B on my lap. Perhaps our first father-son bonding was unfolding right then and there…nothing like subjecting your 5 month-old to bloody video game violence while you share a beer…well, maybe that last part didn’t happen…let’s just say I know how Clark Griswold felt when he and Rusty had their bonding moment out there in the desert.
This is where things start to go downhill…M starts calling me from the other room that her movie has stopped playing. So, instead of picking B up and carrying him with me, I look down at him and he is just shy of dozing…I make the super intelligent decision to just leave him on the sofa where we had been father-son bonding. I walk into the other living room where M has been camped out only to see that she had decided to get her own snacks. Normally this would not be a big deal because she would just go to the pantry and we have for her a low shelf just for her snacks. On this day she decided she wanted a banana…and an apple…she had climbed up on the kitchen counter to retrieve the fruit. I have not figured out why, but she also had a knife. Now before you freak completely out, the knife was a butter knife…but you get the point…my toddler had a knife! And she had been on the kitchen counter! While I was coming to this realization I hear B screaming…I go to check on him in the other living room where I had left him cozy on the sofa watching Call of Duty kill cams. I get half way into the room and notice that B is not on the sofa where I left him. He is on the floor! I felt so awful. The poor guy was confused and alone and had just had his first fall. His worthless dad was in the other room disarming his 3-year-old. The baby was fine, and M still has all of her fingers. Needless to say, I think that FOTY Award is mine!
Posted on January 30, 2010, in Thoughts on Life and tagged Children, fathers, humor, parenting, toddlers. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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