The Hazards of Roller-Skating with a Six-Year-Old

I took the girls rollerskating today -- gotta use up their coupons for free stuff before summer vacation's over, ya know. I don't know what I found more disturbing: the fact that many adults and teens racing around the rink paid no heed to their surroundings because they were so engrossed in their phones, or the fact that my six-year-old daughter informed me, "Dad, you need to learn how to skate better!"

Bedtime Routines and Crazy Fathers

As per usual, when I got home from work this evening, I went to check on the girls, who were in bed. S., age 9, was the only one still awake.

Me: "Goodnight S. I love you!"

S. <rolls eyes>: "How could I ever forget?"

Me: "You can't. But I'll still be telling you the same thing every day when you're forty."

S. <buries face in pillow>: "Crazy dad."

If a father who frequently tells his forty-year-old daughter that he loves her is crazy, I'll gladly wear that label.

Dinosaurs Propagating Their Species, as Explained by a 9-yr-old

Scene: C (age 6) and S (age 9) are looking at a book about dinosaurs . . .

C: "Are all dinosaurs boys?"

S <giggles>: "No."

C: "Are they all girls?"

S <giggles>: "No. Some dinosaurs are boys and some are girls. It has to be that way in order for dinosaurs to get married and have kids."

C: "Dinosaurs get married?!"

S: "Yes, but it's called 'mating'."

Chewing Enthusiastically: Another Bedtime Conversation with My 9-yr-old Daughter

When I got home from work late this evening, the girls were in bed. I was starving and anxious to eat dinner, but Katie said S. sustained an injury earlier in the day and had been begging for her daddy. So I went into the girls room to check on them briefly before eating. S. didn't care for the brevity of my stay and clung tightly to my arm in desperation.

Me: "S., I have to go! I don't feel good and I need to eat something now!"

S.: "No!! I want you to stay here. I don't want to wait for you to eat."

Me: "I haven't eaten a real meal since breakfast. I gotta go. But I'll come back afterward to see how you're doing."

S., letting out a long moan: "But dad, you chew so enthusiastically that it takes you forever to eat. I can eat ten times faster than you."

I chew enthusiastically??

Nits Make Lice, or, my Daughter is a Confused Child

L., age 8, closely examining my head: "You have nitwits in your hair!"

Nit . . . wits . . . ?!

P.S. For the record, I have neither lice nor nits in my hair.

Bedtime Routines, a Follow-up of Sorts to the "Insomniac" Post Below

Scene: I am in the older girls' bedroom, tucking them in bed

Me: "Good night S. and L.. Remember that I--"

S.: "You love us. I know. You always always say that. Why do you say that all the time?"

Me: "So you don't forget."

S.: "We could never forget. You say it all the time. One of my childhood memories is going to be my dad telling me 'I love you' all the time."

Well, okay kid. Just so long as we're clear.

Weirdest Whiskers in the World

C., age 6, sitting on my lap and stabbing my chest with a forefinger each time she speaks a word: "Dad, you need to shave!"

Me: "Okay."

C:: "You have the weirdest whiskers in the world!"

Me: "What makes them the weirdest?"

C:, running her hands across my cheeks: "Because they're sharp. They're pokey."

Well, I can certainly see why that would be weird. After all, every other man's facial whiskers are soft as silk.

What a little nut!

Shot Through the Heart: My Daughters Have Questions about Inoculations

Scene: driving in the van. The girls are discussing inoculations. They determine that all together they have received shots on their thighs, their bums, and their shoulders. They want to know if it's possible to receive shots anywhere else . . . 

A chorus of voices from the back of the van peppers me with questions:

Have you ever been shot in the shin? The stomach? The neck? The thigh?

Then Leila calls out: "Have you ever been shot in the heart?"

Yes, Leila. Metaphorically speaking. But then, haven't we all?

As I drive, memories of old girlfriends and painful breakups come flooding in. But so do the lyrics of a Bon Jovi song from my youth. And I can't help but smile.

Bon Jovi - You Give Love A Bad Name

Music video by Bon Jovi performing You Give Love A Bad Name. (C) 1986 The Island Def Jam Music Group

YOUTUBE.COM

The Joy of Going Bald

Scene: the family is getting ready for the day. My nine-year-old daughter, who is ready to roll out the door, is less than patient while waiting and pleads with me to go right that very second.

Me, to S.: "I have to comb my hair first."

S.: "Why? Combing your hair is boring."

Me: "I know, but it's part of the daily routine. Plus, I like to comb my hair before I go outside the house and people see me."

S.: "Why? With your hair it doesn't matter."

Heavy sigh

An Eight-Year-Old Insomiac Talks to Her Father

Scene: The girls are in bed but still awake. I arrive home from work and go in their bedroom to check on them and tell them good night.

L.: "Poppy, how many times have you told us 'I love you'? How many times have you said, 'remember that I love you'?"

Me: "A lot."

L.: "You've told us that a quadrillion times! No, a quintillion times!"

Me: "Okay."

L.: "What comes after quintillion?"

Me: "I don't know. I can't count that high."

Later, she comes out of her bedroom and plops down on the couch beside me . . . 

L.: "I'm having troubles falling asleep, dad. Do you have any suggestions?"

Me: "Count turtles."

L.: "Where did you come up with that? That's dumb. Usually your ideas are spastic."

Well gee, L., I'm sorry I don't have any "spastic" ideas for you this evening. Now get back in bed.

smh