Recently, my daughter decided she wanted to be a vegetarian, this action infuriated Daddy as we pulled into the barbecue restaurant for my youngest sons birthday. I felt this act was selfish, that she had made up this decision as a way of punishing me for my excellent parenting skills. As I explained that this form of requesting a special dietary option as we pull into barbecue joint was unacceptable. I told her that being a vegetarian is similar to quitting smoking and one must set a quit date for meat.
Further I asked, “Daddy would love to understand why you no longer want to partake in dead animal flesh, from poorly mistreated animals, that were probably beaten and abused before they got on our plate.” She replied that, “She doesn’t like the taste of meat.” This response sent Daddy into a tizzy. I immediately started yelling which is Daddy’s first and only line of defense. As I screamed at my daughter that she could have approached her new found vegetarianism in so many different ways and that I feel like she has decided to become a vegetarian as a way of rebelling against Daddy and I feel like she is holding a shotgun to my head. I told her I would never conform to this and she can now consider herself a starvetarian because Daddy will no longer feed her.
After this altercation we went inside the restaurant. My daughter calmly pointed out that they have these things called salads and that they are very comparable in price to the item she would normally order. I looked at her with eyes of defeat and allowed her to get a salad. The salad came and she looked at some of the vegetables in disgust. I explained she has to eat all of the vegetables or she is no longer a vegetarian. She said she doesn’t like peppers, onions, or mushrooms. I said, “Why don’t we get a chicken sandwich and forget this ever happened?” She nodded her head in agreement. Then we went home and watch a PETA documentary on chickens and laughed.
It occurred to Daddy this weekend that buying my children everything they wanted in order to shut them up, was a stupid and expensive idea. Now they are ungrateful little brats that use whining and yelling as a tool to hold daddy hostage. So daddy decided to take them dumpster diving for dinner and clothes. I explained that if daddy ever lost his job and we became poor this is how poor people survive. My daughter questioned this by asking me if I ever met a poor person before. I told her they have this cool newspaper that homeless people write and sell on the corner for money and that last week daddy almost bought one from the poor person. She then asked why I didn’t buy it. I told her daddy has this fear that if you touch a poor person you might become poor. So time for dumpster diving. As we edged near the dumpster I looked at my children and said women and children first. They looked at me in disgust and immediately started crying. They screamed, “NO! We are SO SORRY! We will be good!” But their little tears did not persuade daddy to stop. It was the moment I picked up my daughter and threw her in the dumpster that it occurred to me this might possibly be child abuse. But it was a little late to doing anything about it. So in order to make up for it I bought her a pony.
My children loved pizza and Mc Donald’s. Every time daddy asked them what they wanted to eat they would say PIZZA! PIZZA! PIZZA! If I tried to serve anything healthy they would roll their eyes and not eat it. So I decided to ruin their favorite food. Daddy use to love Doritos and would eat it all the time, until one day daddy was drunk and vomited Doritos in the back seat of his friends new Lexus. I never talked to that friend again, not because I was embarrassed about puking in his car, but he tried to make daddy pay for the clean up. It’s not my fault you make me sea sick when you drive drunk. But what I learned from that experience besides screwing up a 10 year friendship over who vomited in whose luxury car was if you vomit something you like you usually won’t eat it again. So daddy bought 15 pizzas and I kept feeding them pizza until they vomited all over the place. Now when I ask them what they want for dinner they say, “Anything but Pizza!” Mission Accomplished.
I think they should refrain from calling them talent shows because so few kids genuinely have what it takes to be defined as talented. But Daddy loves nothing more then to sit in a gymnasium for 2 hours and watch kids try to sing and dance. I believe as a parent it is our job to speak out against horrible performances. I don’t care if little Suzie is only 6 years old, she didn’t hit the note to High Schools Musical “Breaking Free.” And the only way she will know her performance sucked is because I stood up and booed her off the stage. I love how defensive parents can be, when you boo their child. They come up to you like they can make them sound better if they punch you in the face. I try to clam the situation by saying, “Look lets be realistic, you knew she sucked at singing, you allowed her to do this “so called Talent show” (make quotations with your hand) because you didn’t have the balls to tell her she sucked, and I believe in positive criticism as well so for every bad thing I say I should say something nice, she is really good at dancing and maybe when my daughter is as big as Miley Cyrus she can be her backup dancer.”
Teaching your child how to ride a bike is a time-honored tradition and also a major pain in the ass. The first time daddy takes off the training wheels and teaches their child how to balance is a memory the child will look back on forever. So it is necessary to give them something to talk about in therapy because this day would not be complete unless the child is emotionally scarred. When your child looks up at you and says, “Daddy, I’m scared.” Remember this is the moment you let go of the bike and let them fall flat on their face. Also it’s important to make sure you teach them how to ride the bike on a busy street this will help them pick up biking faster because it’s ride or die. When on coming traffic approaches they need to pedal as fast as they can. Also the bigger the incline the better. Important follow up tip: Protective gear is for pussies, helmets and pads should be left on the shelf in the garage, unless Mommy comes home early.
Nothing says childhood obesity like feeding your children what they want for breakfast. If you ask your child what they want to eat and they say Ice Cream. Tell them it must be their Birthday because Daddy isn’t going to cook anything and cereal is a two-step process (milk and cereal that’s just two many variables). Ice cream is just a scoop away from them leaving you the hell alone for the rest of the morning. People say breakfast is the most important meal of the day and it should be nutritious, I like to think breakfast is the most important emotional meal of the day that teaches your children what diabetes feels like by the age of twelve.