“I suppose you think you’re very funny,” Tracey scoffed at me this morning as we raced around finding shoes, hats and bags. The elves of mischief had been particularly busy last night trying to get our kids into trouble by moving stuff from where it definitely, absolutely and positively was put the previous afternoon.
“Usually,” I admitted. Then I tried to find a context for her statement. I couldn’t. “Why? What did I say?”
“Your daughter had to bring her favourite book to Alma St yesterday so they could read it to the class,” said Tracey, “and she took this.” A small book was suddenly slammed into my chest. “I don’t think she understood the criteria.”
Can I just point out at this juncture, my youngest daughter and I are sometimes so alike sometimes it’s scary. We both, for example, like yoghurt, farting and watching Barbie Life In The Dreamhouse.
Plus, I would have chosen the exact same book for pre-prep if she’d asked my advice.
“She chose this?” I grinned when I saw when book it was – Jillian Harker’s I Love You , Daddy. “For real?”
“Like you don’t know,” said Tracey. “When I saw it at Alma St I nearly drove home to pick out something she actually likes us to read to her. Did you bribe her or just shove it into her bag?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I exclaimed. Not entirely true. I have spent over a decade inserting books with titles like My Daddy & Me, Me and Dad, Daddy Is My Hero, Superhero Dad, Why I Love My Daddy, Because Dad Loves You, Dads Are Great and Just Like Dad into the kids’ collection. But I didn’t insert this, or any other, book into my daughter’s bag. “I didn’t even know she took it!”
“Then why this book?” Tracey asked me.
I spread my arms, shrugged my shoulders and slowly shook my head – the internationally acknowledged body language gesture for, how the hell would I know the thinkerings of our four year old nut job?
Granted, Tracey was absolutely right about us having a lot of books in the house Miss4 prefers to the one she took – and none of them have so much as a synonym or derivative of the word Daddy in the title. Nick Bland’s The Very Cranky Bear, or even her latest book purchase, Puff, The Magic Dragon.
I could tell I wasn’t getting anywhere with my own very huffy puffy cranky mother bear, so I tried logic.
“You’ve known me for twenty years. Give me the scenario,” I said, “which culminates with me waking up and knowing it’s her turn to pick some book to take to school.”
Finally, I could see I was winning the argument. I’m a bit foggy most mornings. I generally just stand by the coffee machine throwing back caffeine shots until I’m awake enough to drive the car for the school run.
“This is genuine surprise and gloating,” I assured my wife.
I can’t wait for the movie. I’ll have to remember to take tissues 😉
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Raising a family on little more than laughs.