Ten Things Wrong With My Children According To My Father

Ten Things Wrong With My Children According To My Father

Ten Things Wrong With My Children According To My Father

1. They don’t talk to him enough.

He is sort of right as I notice they sometimes seem to be avoiding him; I wonder if it is because he constantly tells them he is going to throw their lego construction projects away if they are not picked up off the floor of their bedroom. Hmmm.

2. They don’t hang up towels.

One point for him, we are working on this.

3. I don’t make them do anything.

Now, what? My oldest son accused me, just yesterday, of being the laziest person on the planet after I made him go get my beach chair.

4. One of them, I’m not naming names, has crummy handwriting.

It is pretty bad but after three years of occupational therapy, we are at a loss with his dysgraphia and hate to state the obvious, but isn’t it very bad manners to criticize an 8-year-old’s thank you note?

5. Their favorite meal is pizza.

Yes, it is. At least a few of them though now Russell is surviving on garlic bread and Cheerios. And what’s wrong with pizza?

6. All they do is watch TV.

Again, there are days where we have a morning marathon of television but after five days of July fourth fun and sun, we are exhausted from the festivities, not to mention cleaning up Legos.

7. Clarke, who is my dog child, stares at him while he eats.

She is almost thirteen and as sweet as they come but tenderloin late night does call her name especially after you have been feeding her morsels all week.

8. They left their kayaks on the beach.

I know this. I told them they could leave them by the deck as they are too heavy to carry up when we go in for lunch. Yes, I know they may be stolen but I am willing to take the risk.

9. I can’t get them to talk to people.

He who raised me with the philosophy of “children should be seen and not heard”; this tickles me to the core since he is not exactly the mayor type himself.

10. “Do we have to watch this?”, he asks when Amos is immersed in Caillou. “Yes!”, my mother shouts. Ahhh, sweet vindication.

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