Which type of blog post is more cliche, the ones that are a mere list of weekend activities, loosely tied together with a thread-thin, self-deprecating theme, or the ones where the "writer" adopts a curmudgeonly tone, expressing disdain for all? Christ, I hate them both.
My wife recently ordered a bunch of new games for us to play with the kid. She got Clue, Battleship, Stratego, and some new-fangled game called Blokus. The Blokus box is covered with "Mensa" and "Best Game To Make Up For Lackluster Parenting 2005!" stickers and crap like that. Our daughter, Daisy, has no interest in playing it, but we're pretty sure that its mere presence makes her smarter.
I have fond memories of all the other games from my childhood. I didn't own any of them, so I only played them at friends' houses, and consequently never got sick of them. Stratego was my favorite and I was pleased to have the opportunity to play it with my daughter this weekend.
I am proud to report that I CRUSHED her! She plays like a freakin' six year-old! I've left behind the days when I used to let her win games half the time. Maybe a better parent would manage their child's self esteem more carefully, but it's not like I'm getting paid for parenting.
Speaking of bad parenting, earlier today I looked out front and saw the rope swing that some neighborhood kids had tied to our tree. There's no tire or seat at the bottom, just a noose-like loop for your foot. Laying next to the noose was my daughter's pogo-stick. I guess if I had covered the ground in rusty knives and gasoline and lit the whole are on fire, then it would have been more dangerous. Trial and error, my friends.
Come to think of it, the whole weekend was an exercise in crappy parenting (ok, fathering). Yesterday at the pizza party for my daughter's soccer team, I ordered her a dairy-free pizza (due to her dairy allergies). It had goat cheese instead of mozzarella, and since she's not crazy about tomato sauce, I asked for pesto. I slapped it down in front of Daisy and wandered off to hang with the wife.
"Hey, they've got good Daisy-friendly pizza options here. I got one with goat cheese and pesto," I proudly bragged.
"I already pre-ordered her a pizza. And, she can't have pesto. That has dairy in it." my wife patiently explained.
My wife was unaware that Daisy was currently eating the pizza, so I smiled and slowly backed out of view. Once I had rounded the corner, I rushed over to Daisy's table to find her grimacing and furiously rubbing her lips.
"Daddy! My mouth itches! REALLY BAD!!"
I plucked the pizza from her hands and explained that I had screwed up and given her food that she was allergic to. When she gasped at my stupidity I saw that her bottom lip had swelled up to huge proportions.
"Daddy! IT ITCHES!!"
I had never seen dairy make her swell up before. Usually she just gets a rash. I found the cheeseless pizza my wife had ordered, and thrust this at Daisy. I then went back outside, to explain to my wife what was going on. She took the information in stride, examined Daisy, and then went off to a drugstore to buy some Benadryl. That seemed to help.
Today Daisy is at a friend's house and is safe from my parenting. Thank goodness. I took the time to go prune the weeds. It's similar to mowing the lawn, but you only have to do it a couple times a year.