Not many things in life are as easy as being a parent. I mean kids these days practically raise themselves. Because my children really have it so together, I try to stay in the background as much as possible unless they need my help with something small, like: eating, drinking, dressing, or defecating.
Occasionally they do need guidance because they are only four and two and I try to expel my astuteness as succinctly as possible. It sounds easier than it actually is because I can really drag out an explanation if I’m in my chair of wisdom. That particular chair’s located at a friend’s house where I’ve been known to enjoy a few cocktails, and my kids are mostly at my house so they usually aren’t put through that arduous assault on their listening devices, aka ears. Today was one of those times that a reasonable adult was needed to point my little girl in the right direction and fortunately my wife was the one that was home. Our little angel wants a tattoo. Yes, a freaking tattoo. A freaking tattoo on her freaking back.
It really was a good thing that I wasn’t the one home because for a moment I thought that it’d be cool to have the only preschooler, that I know of, with a tattoo. Her juvenile choice of ink brought me back to earth so I didn’t even try to persuade my wife. She wants candy corn on her shoulder. I mean, let’s be real here, that’s such a time-sensitive piece of body art. It’d just look kind of stupid in April. Besides, the girl’s four-years-old and everyone knows that bad life choices should wait until your at least ten or eleven.
I’m glad that I could be there for my non-branded little girl, again. She’s very smart but my infinite guidance is always waiting in the wings if she needs it. Lucky girl!