Does parenting ever feel to you like this picture I took at our (last for a long time) attempt at Disneyland last night? Then perhaps you’ll relate to this word-for-word transcription of a spontaneous piece of parenting poetry recited by Scott after the following exchange this morning:
Scott: Do you want to wear your black shoes or your Brobee shoes?
Tariku: Brobee shoes!
Scott: Okay, great. Let’s put on your Brobee shoes.
Tariku: (in a high pitched scream that fades to an extended whine): NOOOOOOOOO!! Nooooooooooooo Brobeeeeeee shoooooooooes.
Repeat this exchange fifty times an hour about every single thing from toothbrush color to song selection to breakfast and you get…
A Father’s Poem/Prayer:
I need help, man.
I need a class.
I need a meeting.
I need Jesus.
I need Amma.
I need the Dalai Lama.
I need Tony Soprano.
I need Marlon Brando.
I need help, man.
I need help.
I was JUST saying to Mark that I wish I could send my kids off to a governess from age 2-4. They are such so friggin’ hard at this age. Mobile, with no logic. Can’t take them anywhere.
I love it! Thanks for sharing the poem, I know my husband will be able to relate:)