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Conversations with My Kids: Chapter 1

(Actual conversations with my kids.)


DAD, 30s casually dressed and emotionally battered is preparing the room for bedtime. Starting the floor fan, checking night lights, etc.

SON, 5 years old and super not tired gets his pajamas on begrudgingly.

SON: Dad, can we read a book?

Dad looks at clock. 

Dad: Yes. A short one.

Son holds up a book that looks like Moby Dick but for kids.

Dad: Buddy, does that look like a short book.

BEDROOM DOOR FLIES OPEN. DAUGHTER enters. Son flinches instinctively.

Daughter carries herself with the countenance of the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes but with pink pajamas and a pink blanket draped over her shoulders like a boa feathered with defiance and contempt for authority.

Dad: Hey, Sis, sit down…

Daughter: No.

Dad: …and let me…

Daughter: No.

Dad: …brush your hair.

Daughter: NO.

Daughter gathers like infinity stuffed animals to put in her bed that will make her hot within 5 mins but like she would ever listen to that kind of reason.

Dad contemplates whether he’d rather fight Daughter on brushing her hair or deal with WIFE’s (30s and super hot) disappointment at it not having been brushed prior to bed. He chooses the latter.

Dad: Ok, guys. Time to lay down and say prayers.

Son lays down and covers up. He’s asleep in like 12 seconds.

Daughter stands up and gets in Dad’s face. She holds it close, tenderly even.

Daughter: Daddy?

Dad: Yes, baby?

Daughter: Daddy, I want to say a bad word.

Dad: Wait what?

Daughter: (frustrated) I. Want. To. Say. A. Bad. Word.

Dad: Well, Sweetie, we shouldn’t say…

Daughter: Stupid. (beat) Stupid was the bad word I wanted to say.

Dad sighs and in doing so, he exhales any notion of parental success and inhales the fumes of his parenting failure.

Daughter lays down and blows Dad a kiss.

Daughter: Night, Daddy.

Dad: Good night, Baby.

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