“Dad, you’re doing it again. Dad…..Daaaadd!! You’re talking to yourself again.”
“Oh. Sorry, Zoë. Was that out loud?”
“Yes, Dad. What are you talking about?”
“Nothing, Zoë. I was just thinking about something. Don’t worry about it.”
I can not beging to tell you how many times during the course of a normal day I find myself taking pause to consider something I have just said or thought. Ninety percent of the time it’s benign stuff that any of us would be thinking throughout the course of the day–the cat gave me that look again, I need to pick up some food…don’t forget to get some gas for the mower, the lawn’s looking a bit shabby and the neighbors are starting to stare…that’s your last square of Charmin buddy, get some tp when you get the cat food…I wore this t-shirt yesterday…it’s OK, you didn’t go anywhere, you’re the only one that knows…did I turn off the iron?…OK. So that last one has never been an issue with me because I don’t iron. Hey, Ive got my flaws and I refuse to hide them under the guise of a finely pressed shirt. Besides, I have found that if you need a quick press job you can always gold the garment tightly in both hands stretching the unsightly wrinkled seam taught and vigorously rub the garment on the corner of a countertop or bedframe. The friction from the rubbing works just as well as the steam from a hot iron and you are much less likely to get a nasty burn. You’re welcome. Anyway, back to task. As I was saying ninety percent is all benign stuff and we have all been there. But I don’t care about the ninety percent and neither should you.
It’s that other ten percent I’d like to address here this evening. You see, the ten percent of thoughts and phrases I am about to confess to you now are things I could have or would have never imagined myself saying ten years ago. In fact, although much of what I’m about to confess to you now is common speak in my mind and home I am still very much agast that they are. But first, just a bit of preface, some background as to why I felt it necessary to somehow quantify some of my ten percent.
Football Friday Night. Two weeks ago. The weather had been unusually warm for September in Middle America however the temperatures that evening were expected to reflect a more typical fall night and were to drop throughout the evening. Zane had been through a summer growth spurt and had only short pants, totally unacceptable for the evening coolness. I had not been shopping for cool weather pants yet and suggested he wear his school khakis (his only long legged pants) to the game. All fine and dandy, until….
At one point I look down to see Zane sliding along the sidelines pretending to be a football player both knees now the most brilliant shade of green over khaki that one could possibly imagine. Without even thinking I looked down at him and yelled, “You had better hope I can get those stains out!”
My wife looked at me waiting for the laughter that was sure to be following such a ridiculous remark but it never came. It took a moment for me to realize–My God! What have I become?! So now, what other thoughts and phrases have I been tossing about totally oblivious as to how they now define my current station in life.
“Is the fabric softener dispensed on a timed cycle during the wash or is it just emptied in whenever?” Key questions when purchasing our new front load high effieciency washing machine, a product which has literally changed my life. Ten years ago I didn’t even know there was such a thing as fabric softenner much less that it really does matter when in the cycle it is added to the wash.
Along those same lines. “This washing machine has literally changed my life!” Not a car, not a set of golf clubs or a new dual bevel twelve inch compound miter saw. An effing washing machine!!
“Absolutely not. You can not wear those shoes with that skirt.” Why should I even care??? Because regardless of what the latest trend in fashion happens to state, I come from the no white shoes after labor day era and some things just don’t change so easily even if the cutest six year old in the world happens to be the one bucking the system.
“Rub some dirt on it!” OK. Confession time. This one I actually enjoy saying. It is truly amazing to see the transformation from sniffling crying child to incredulous disbelief that actually rubbing dirt on freshly scraped knees will somehow stop the pain then to have them search for just the right handful of said dirt before applying it. Distraction is a wonderful numbing agent.
“This is not a restaurant and I’m not your waiter.” I’m not quite sure when this misconception initiated but that madness has got to stop. “You don’t want to eat this, fine. We’ll be having dinner in about 4-5 hours. Feel free to try your luck then.” Funny thing is, I’ve always wanted to run my own restaurant. Irony!
“What is in your mouth?!”/”Give me that!”/”Put that down!” I’ve become the banned substance enforcer. A job made no less easy by the fact that the twins are now working against me. They have perfected their own little scheme of deception and distraction. Zander has assumed the role of distractor while Zella (who has conned everyone into thinking she is a little angel) usually makes off with the booty. It’s hard to keep a straight face when after the smoke clears you find the two of them dividing up the spoils of the day employing a language that only they can understand.
“Don’t jump in the…..puddle.” What is it with kids and mud puddles? It’s like some weird electromagnetic force that sucks them to it. Honestly, they can not avoid a puddle.
“Use a tissue.” Really, what is so wrong with encrusting the sleeve of your favorite OshKosh sweater during the course of a day? We’ve all been there, right?
“Son, put the lid down.” Again, a confession. Zane, this one’s just going to save you a lot of heartache when you get older. And yes, it is just as easy for them to put it down but that’s never going to happen. Trust your dad on this one.
So there you have it, a random smattering of the seemingly endless phrases that have become part of my everyday vernacular since becoming a stay at home parent. I’m sure there are more. Chances are that although I didn’t mention it here, I’ve used it.
I’ll end with this one. “Why yes, they are all mine.” Ten years ago I might have been referring to my teeth, my nappy curls or a new set of golf clubs. But today I beam w
ith pride when I use the phrase to acknowledge that yes these are my children and I am very proud to be their father. Making the transition from working stiff to a regular guy that gave it all up to stay at home and raise his children has certainly added a wealth of new phrases to my daily routine and I am loving every bit of it.
, maybe three. No, what I’m talking about here is the resurgence of Potter Mania in Casa de Zoë’s Dad. You see, my wife is a huge fan of the Potter boy. She’s read em’ all and seen em’ all. I do recall one year before Zoë was born wading through the masses of freckle faced children wearing capes and wizard hats and those black round rimmed glasses in Barnes and Noble at midnight just to get her copy hot off the presses as it were. I happened to be out of town during the release party this year and my wife seized the opportunity to once again haunt the B&N Harry Potter release party only this time she had a more enthusiastic entourage. All five of our Z’s took part in the evening’s festivities and I can safely say were fans of 
