I've Taken On An Ever-So-Fun New Hobby

Pissing off my daughter.

The Littlest Briston is three now, and as such, now knows exactly how everything should be. She knows just where everything goes, she knows the exact state of everything she comes across, and she’ll be happy to share this information. You’re more than welcome to agree with her, but be warned, you much agree with her exactly.

That’s where my fun comes in. For example – the other night we were coming home from day care. My wife was in bed with the flu, so I was in charge of dinner. As we pulled away from the Burger King drive-thru, TLB asked for a french fry.

“How do we ask?”

Well, since she asked so nicely, I hand over a couple of fries. Then, the fun begins in earnest.

“Daddy, these fries are really hot.”
“Yes Sweetie, they are kind of hot.”
“No Daddy, the fries are really hot!”
“Yes, I know…they are sort of hot.”
“Daddy! No!! The fries are really hot!”
“Uh huh…yes, I’m agreeing with you. The fries are a little bit hot.”

I drive a block…

…and then another…

…and one more.

I look back in the rear view, and see her staring daggers at me through teary eyes, waiting for me to dare to give an incorrect response.

I reach in the bag, pull out a few more fries, and pop them in my mouth.

“Yes Sweetie?”
“I have some more fries? Pleeeease?”
“Oh, sure Honey…”

I hand a few back to her…

“…careful though. They’re slightly warm.”


Cripes, kids can be fun. :slight_smile:

Several months back, I started calling the younger Wargemerette ‘George’ - because I wanted to (/Abominable Snowman) hug her, and kiss her, and squeeze her, and pat her,…(/AS). She would get her ‘Grrrr’ on every time I did it, so, of course, I kept doing it. Finally I grew out of it (being 44, eventually I DO grow out of most of my juvenalia). She came up to me two days later and said, “Daddy, why don’t you call me George anymore?”

I love me some George, yes I do.

I still do that with mine. My daughter is 16 and has learned to just ignore me when I do it, but my son is 9 and still gets annoyed. Hee Hee!

You’re just satan, Hal.

Is this the Leona Lewis singer? Bweedin’ Love…

Heh…yes, the same.

It’s really fun to teach a 3 year old to read and then call all your generic brand products by the national brand name. 3 year olds get very adamant about not calling fake fruit flavored cereal “fruit loops” unless it is in fact Fruit Loops. Fun times.

That trait was my secret in being the only person able to get my nephew to clean up his toys. I’d just start putting away all his toys… wrong. In the wrong boxes, on the wrong shelves, trains mixed up with trucks, Legos in the bins with magnetic clicky things. All wrong.

He had no interest in cleaning up on his own, but if Uncle Lightray was doing it wrong? NOOOOOO! UNCLELIGHTRAYYOU’REDOINGIT WROOONG!!!

And then, he had to do it right. I wasn’t allowed to interfere.

After which, my mystified brother would come in and try to weasel out my secret. (I never told him; he’s my little brother, so must be tormented).

Alas, now that number two nephew is on the scene, his older brother has clued him in to my wily ways, and there shall be no cleanup forevermore.

But it was glorious while it lasted.