Kidding me

I’m wearing a Dora the Explorer Band-Aid. And I feel no need to explain it to anyone. Should anyone actually say anything about it, I would probably respond with, “Yeah, I cut my finger. Needed a Band-Aid.”
I do not need to justify why it is decorated with Dora. If Dora were not there, Diego would be, or perhaps Spider-Man or Barbie. I’ve been a parent for too long to care about getting my own kind of Band-Aids.
It’s just one of the many things that happens with parents over time. I am fairly certain that when I was in college, I would have been rather self-conscious about a Dora Band-Aid. In fact, I would have probably been self-conscious about a Band-Aid at all; as any early 20-something man-child will tell you, properly cared for wounds are for the weak/intelligent.
There are plenty of other events of parenting that prove you have moved into that phase of parental acceptance. If you are a parent, you can probably relate. If you are considering becoming a parent, I caution you not even to think, “My children will NEVER ...” And goodness knows, don’t utter it out loud, lest there be a tsunami created by the immediate wind surge created by every seasoned parent within a 5-mile radius guffawing at your proclamation that you will NEVER use spit as a facial cleanser.
Among the moments:
1. My response was simply, “Fine, whatever” when Parker asked if he could take his Cheetos to the bath with him. Hey, it had been a long weekend, and let’s be honest — a hot bath and some Cheetos might be relaxing.
2. We let Allie pick out her own clothes every morning. This began when she complained about my choice of outfits for her one morning. I told her there was a simple solution to this. Of course, it is a sad statement when a 7-year-old matches things WAY better than I do.
3. You cannot be too tired to play Monster. Even if it’s for a few minutes, letting your kids crawl on you and maul you as you pretend to be a monster is required unless you have a note from your doctor, in particular your back doctor who advised you against playing Monster.
4. I will now let my children help me around the house. Children are some of the least helpful creatures when it comes to home repair. Asking a 4-year-old to hold a screwdriver for you is the equivalent of saying, “Please hide this screwdriver out back.” But now, I let them help and have Parker distribute tools, parts, etc. around the house while Allie assists by singing, dancing and occasionally hovering right on top of me and asking what every component of the toilet we are working on is. I answer by making up part names. “That’s the Van Buren. That’s the Electrolux capacitor. That’s the Tom Selleck automator. That’s the chimpanzee depreciation nozzle.”
5. I know the laundry will never get done. Ever. Unless I duct-tape the children’s current outfits on them and make them wear them for a week. By my estimate, my children change clothes an average of 42 times a day. And based on a review of the dirty clothes, Parker eats about 14 pounds of oatmeal a day.
6. They’re not going to starve. I actually arrived at the conclusion early on when my daughter was born, but I still would get a little concerned when their eating habits turned finicky. I’ve pretty much gotten to the point where if it occurs to me, “Hey, the last meal they ate was three moon phases ago,” I get worried. They’ll eat.
7. They can drive. Well, not actually drive, but they can sit in my lap and “steer” when I back the car up so that I can blow the leaves off the driveway. And while I am sure there are people who would like to send me countless reasons why this is neither safe nor legal, I refer to the “Being a Normal Dad Manual,” Chapter 6, Section 2, which clearly states: “All normal dads shall let children sit on lap and pretend to drive car when backing it out of the driveway.” For what it’s worth, Section 3 states that doing this on interstates is a bad idea.
8. Fear is not always an option. There comes a point where you have to decide for your children that fear is, well, to be set aside. Our cat, Delilah, is evil. Well established. Yet refusing to enter a room she is in is rather pointless, as she is self-contained evil. Don’t bother her, she won’t bother you. So both my children have had the distinct pleasure of me bringing them into a room and then saying, “And waddya know — Delilah’s in here, and she didn’t bother you.” And before you ask why we keep an evil cat, it’s because she likes me. And because if anyone were to break into my house, I would throw Delilah at them, and they would quickly be sliced to ribbons.
9. We’ll change the toilet paper roll. Apparently, the ability to do that skips a generation. Rather than blow a gasket, I’ll just change it out, and just be glad that they are beyond the Grab It And Start Running phase.
10. The house will be clean one day. And it’s not today. Or tomorrow. Or the next. I’d figure out how many days it will be until Parker leaves for college, but I don’t have the time right now, as I’ve got to go get the Cheetos out of the tub.