Introducing “Dad Fail,” a place where funny anecdotes, uncategorized musings and sound bites can be archived for parent posterity. Kids do say the darndest things, but they also say “shit” and “prajramas.” I’m also constantly reminded that children are funhouse mirror reflections of our deepest selves, which frightens me beyond belief.
I had a momentary freakout last night. “Do my kids know they can’t put metal in a microwave?” One girl would hide in the corner and the other would start to rave with all the flashing lights. Are these lessons us humans just gather like loose change over time, or is there some kind of manual?
My wife had a stomach bug a few days ago. She threw up in the sink, much to the delight of the viewing audience (two kids, two dogs and a horrified husband). “Uh oh,” little Ella said. “Dad has to clean that up now.”
Both my girls have recently discovered gum. Each piece comes with the reminder not to swallow it, but I’m not exactly sure why. Meanwhile, I’ve gotten to the point in my life where I bite my lip one out of every three gum-chewing experiences. I feel like my general human skills are regressing.
I play this game with the girls, pointing to a non-existent yogurt smudge or toothpaste stain on their shirt. Naturally, when they look down out of sheer childlike curiosity, I boop them in the nose. Gets a laugh every time. Low-hanging fruit? Sure, but I need the reinforcement of laughs to keep my rep up. But last night, while I was herding the stray cats to brush their teeth and get in bed, my 4-year-old pointed to an issue near my legs. I bent down to look—shame on me!—and she rams her index finger three inches deep into my eye socket. I’m fairly sure she touched my brain, and I went down like a bag of bricks. The laughter I normally hear after this prank was much more diabolical. As I write this, now defunct of depth perception, I’m oddly proud. A taste of my own medicine.