I love my kids, I just hate parenting
When I lived in Boston and NYC, this weekend’s St. Paddy’s celebration was a big deal. But now, I live in the south – I’m not sure they’ve even heard of the Irish – AND I have a two-year-old. Day-drinking my way through St. Patrick’s Day is a lot harder with a toddler.
Even one who has got some Irish in him. (And has been there!)
There’s something funny about “resurrecting” a post about raising my son to believe in God. Amirite? But with all this ridiculous Pope stuff in the news, I thought it made sense to revisit this old post, written only a few months after my kid was born. It’s about the conflict between my own disdain forRead more about Zombie Post: No Church in the Child[…]
Kids lie. No matter how hard you stress the importance of honesty, they will still lie. It’s human nature.
My kid isn’t even three years old and I’ve already seen inklings. I’m not always sure that’s he truly lying about not having pooped or if he’s just so used to having poop in his pants that he can’t tell the difference, but sometimes he’s lying about it. Because he doesn’t want his diaper changed. Because he’s gross. But I digress.
Dealing with lying children is a natural part of being a parent. I knew that going in, and I’m ready for it.
But I didn’t know how much lying I’d be doing.
The other day, my wife asked me why I had put her keys under the couch.
Obviously, I had not done that. My toddler had.
This must be what it’s like to have a ghost.
My son likes to play this game called “Give Mommy and Daddy a heart attack!”
The rules are simple: he goes about his normal, everyday business, and Mom and Buried and I freak out at every stupid and dangerous thing he does that nearly gets him killed. Toddlers are fearless, to a fault.
Obviously, it’s not quite as fun for us.