If you’re a parent, you know exactly what I’m talking about. It normally happens around moments of correcting the sub-humanoid life forms that dwell in your house, eat your food, and are able to stuff just about anything down the heating vents in your floors. Brief moments of frustration, your mouth engaging, followed by a long silence as both your spouse and your child look on at you in awe. And you stare straight ahead. Because your child has no idea what you said, and your spouse is trying desperately to keep from laughing.
In the CUV (Child Utility Vehicle for you poor souls who still drive “mini-vans”) during our Saturday outing yesterday, Evangeline started screaming. I mean really screaming. I looked in the rear view mirror. Turns out she just had an eyelash in her eye. You might say, “Well that hurts!” Except she got it out in less than two seconds, and then was just fine. Quiet as a mouse.
Jennifer says, “Sweetie, you are over reacting. Next time, use a little self-control and don’t yell.” A good example of fine parenting advice.
But then I have to speak. I’m the dad.
“Eva, you need to stop screaming over little things. We only scream…when we’re dying.”
I tried to suck the words back into my head. I don’t know why I said them. I just did. I don’t even have experience in dying. I was just trying to be a good dad.
Daughter looks ahead stupefied. Wife tries not to laugh. Perfect. ch: