The other morning Maggie discovered the differences between boys and girls. I was trying to sneak into the guest bedroom when I heard “Daddy I’m Awake!” So I went into her room, sans clothes, and she immediately points at my junk and goes ‘What’s that Daddy?”. I said “Honey this is a giant cock”, well that’s what I thought, what I actually said was “That’s a penis”. She then paused for a brief second grabbed her crotch and said, “Daddy, I don’t have a penis”. Which was pretty impressive, considering she had her pajamas on which blocked her visual. Using the famous Kindergarten Cop quote I went on to explain that boys have penises and girls have vaginas.
Then we had to go through the entire family trying to figure out which were boys and which were girls. It’s 6:45 AM on a Tuesday morning and I’m naked talking to a two year old about everyone’s genitalia. “Yes honey, Uncle Bruce has a penis, except when he orders the ‘light and fancy’ at the Virginia Kitchen” “No sweetie, even though Aunt Jen excels at sports and could probably pin a small bear in a wrestling match, she does not have a penis that I know of.” Finally, I just broke into her favorite song, Oh Canada, she lost her train of thought and I was able to slip into the shower.
With the penis confrontation behind me, it appears that another battle is brewing at my house between my OCD and my daughters. I thought it was cute when she needed to touch pictures on her way out of school, and it was cool that she and her Mommy had a morning routine, where she has to do things a certain way, but now her OCD has conflicted with mine and it is on like Donkey Kong.
As you may know from a previous post, the lamp post in our front yard has a rod through it and I need it to be centered, after all I am a Libra. Well, my little miss sunshine gets out of the car the other day and yells “Daddy stick”. So I take her over to the lamp post and she pushes it all to one side. We start towards the house and I reach back and push it to the center. “Daddy NOOOO!” She then pushes it all the way to one side again. I give in and leave it be, knowing full well that it will bug the shit out of me until she goes to bed. The next day we get home and the same thing happens. I’ve decided to keep the peace for now, but if she starts turning over the change in my car from heads to tails, then she better be wearing comfortable shoes for her walk home.
Now if you’ll excuse me I need to prepare for the closing ceremonies of my week long tribute to the man with one glove who liked to grab crotches. No, not Michael Jackson, I’m talking about my hernia doctor. Turn your head, cough, and then give me a hee-hee-oooh!
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