The Perils of Fatherhood

Ed note: Andy gave me full permission to write this post.

A couple weeks ago we were all on the couch. I was reading picture books out loud, to the kids. Andy found a marble in the couch, while I was reading. And for whatever reason he thought it would be funny to secretly put the marble inside his belly button and then surprise the kids with the fact that he had a marble stuck there once I finished the story.

Except, he fell asleep.

Fast forward several hours later. Andy’s doing our weekly grocery shopping trip, late at night, after the kids are in bed. He’s in the produce section when he notices something hard in his belly button.

It’s the marble.

I’m still laughing.

“My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.” —Clarence B. Kelland

Owen: “Why do we have to get butter at the store?”
Andy: “Because we don’t have butter.”
Owen: “But we do have butter!”
Andy: “No. We don’t. We have margarine.”
Me: “Daddy doesn’t like margarine.”
Owen: “What’s margarine?”
Me: “Fake butter.”
Owen: “But I like margarine!”
Andy (jokingly, I think): “You are not my son!”
James (singing): “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me haaapppy, when skies are graaayyy.”
Owen: “I want to play I Spy!”
Andy: “OK, you can go first.”
Sophie: “I want to go first!”
Andy: “It was Owen’s idea, so he gets to go first.”
(Complaints from Sophie. Stern words from me.)
Owen: “I spy with my little eye something pink.”
Me: “My nails?”
Owen: “No! That cup!”
(He’s still learning the rules of the game.)
Everyone: “Yay!”
Sophie: “My turn! I spy with my little eye something red and white.”
Andy: “That’s pink.”
Sophie: “No. A lot white and just a little red.”
(We guess a million things.)
Sophie (beyond frustrated): “It’s a lollipop stick with just a little bit of cherry lollipop still stuck on it!”
Me: “Where did you find that?”
Sophie: “In the holder!”
(The holder is a little compartment next to her seat in the van.)
Me: “Um, what else is your holder?”
Sophie: “Old Oreo cookies, old pita chips, a pinecone and a rock. Oh! And a barrette!”
James: “It’s my turn!”
Me, to Andy: “We have to clean out the van.”
James: “I spy with my little eye something green.”
Andy: “The trees.”
James: “No.”
Andy: “The grass.”
James: “Yes!”

And so on.

“A suburban mother’s role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car forever after.” —Peter De Vries