I’m not much of a dieter so take what I have to say with a (multi-) grain of salt and a pound of sugar.
I took the daughter to BJ’s the other night to do a little bulk shopping because we were down to seventeen rolls of Charmin and two 19.7 oz. boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios at the house so it was obviously time to replenish the shelves in our basement.
We hit a little bump in the road in the beginning of our excursion, as my daughter puked in the parking lot before we went inside. This was kind of odd because our boy’s usually the puker (see Yummy, Blleh, Bbllleeehhh, Yummy), but she’s a trooper and decided to carry on with the mission without any prodding from me. All did seem well when we headed in because her stomach must’ve been empty by the size of the puddle in front of the Lexus’s driver’s door parked next to us.
After the quick cleanup in the men’s room the two of us loaded mass quantities of things we use at the house into the cart. You know, like, four tubes of toothpaste, two huge jugs of refillable anti-bacterial soap, eight tubs of Vaseline, six jars of mayo and an apple. Just things we needed… I thought. I should have brought a list.
I knew that we needed wheat bread so we headed toward that area with high hopes of getting what we needed. No such luck. After pacing back-and-forth between the three bread aisles for about thirty minutes I came to the conclusion that they were out of the butter-top version I usually buy; all that was left was the whole-grain stuff, which I know is good for you, but tastes like a sponge, or cardboard, or something non-food like. You may ask, have you actually tasted it, and the answer would be a resounding YES… I think.
I thought about stopping somewhere else on the way home, but it was almost my little girl’s bedtime and I figured that we could handle whole-grain for once. Let me rephrase that, the kid’s and my wife could handle whole-grain for once so I grabbed a loaf and headed to the checkout.
This short story made long was what brought me to my current state of fear. I discovered yesterday that I didn’t buy the whole-grain loaf; I bought multi-grain instead by accident. I really don’t know anything about multi-grain besides that it smells like PLAY–DOH, but I did read on the package it’s a great source of fiber. This kind of scares me because my kids don’t really need any assistance in the bathroom. Well, not that kind of assistance. If anything, I’d like to curb their output if possible. Even though this stuff went through my mind I fed it to both of them anyway. My son’s eaten it yesterday and today with his jelly and peanut butter and my daughter today only with hers.
The boy has gone dump-less since before his first taste of this flavorless vessel for things you normally put on a sandwich, such as jelly, peanut butter, lunch meat, salmon or cheese, so I’m hoping it isn’t some sort of time-released colon bomb that goes off in 48 hours because I think the load would exceed the maximum capacity of his pull-up. If this faux food affects people differently, my daughter might be in a bind at preschool right now if it hits her just right so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
It seems to be out of my control so it’s just a waiting game. Hopefully it’s worth the wait.
My daughter’s new to the whole school scene this year so we like to interrogate her when she gets dismissed from her daily 2 1/2 hour ordeal. We ask open-ended questions like What’d you do today, What did you learn, Is your teacher a bitch, and What kids did you play with.
Her answer to the last question floored me.
“Kids are not supposed to play with other kids in preschool.”
It kind of inferred an answer to question number three until my daughter revealed the origin of this edict through further prodding, er questioning.
“Who said that kids aren’t supposed to play with kids?” I asked.
“I did,” she said. “Kids are only supposed to play with toys by themselves at preschool.”
There had to be more to this so I asked a leading question.
“Did one of your teachers say this?”
“No, Daddy. I came up with this by myself.”
“Are you sure that your teacher didn’t say this while she was screaming at the class?” I asked innocently.
“No Daddy, the teacher doesn’t scream at the class, she talks nicely.”
After some reassurance my wife and I convinced her that it’s okay to play with other kids at preschool and that in fact her teacher’s not a bitch and I really need to accept the fact that my little girl’s in someone else’s capable hands part of the day. At least it’s only part of the day… for this year at least.
My little girl’s growing up way too fast. It seems like she just went to school for the first time last week. Oh yeah, she did just go to school for the first time last week. So much has changed about her, or me, depending on whom you ask. I’ve caught her practically making out… twice.
The first time she lip-locked the boy across the street, which was okay, sort of, because he moved away later that day. No, it wasn’t because of some futile threat I might have or have not thrown at him that said something about castration. He’s six, so he probably doesn’t even know what the word means. I probably shouldn’t have drawn pictures for him.
The second time happened right in front of me, again. This girl needs a little dose of modesty added to her Fruit Loops in the morning. While waiting for the teacher to open the preschool door my angel planted a big wet one on a kid in her class. Luckily for the kissee, he acted like he didn’t enjoy it so I didn’t have to play Pictionary with him, I’ll just keep my eye on the little miscreant.
Another sign of growing up or at least maturing came from something she told my wife. A more accurate term might be im-maturing even if that’s not a real word. She explained to my lovely wife that a toot, AKA a fart, flatulation or air biscuit is made up of two poops in her body smashing together. She surmised this from the information she received about thunder coming from two clouds crashing together. This kid might have a future in science or as a shock jock. I prefer the former unless she goes into syndication with the latter.
As a parent for life, I guess I’ll just have to get used to the kids “growing up”, but I don’t have to like it. Then again, there must be some advantages to them getting older. Is four to early to mow the lawn?