I think we're decent parents.
That statement is true because of the word "we're". It allows me to lump together my wife's parenting ability with mine. I'm a pretty lousy parent, but she's a really great one, so if you average us together, we're decent parents. Yay, math!
I'm not certain everyone is going to rate us that way though. Daisy had a friend, Jasmine, sleep over on Saturday night and it's just a matter of time before that Jasmine's parents prohibit her from socializing with our family.
First, when the mom dropped her daughter off, she also brought along a present for Daisy, a nice sweater and skirt. Daisy's birthday was months ago, so I'm guessing this was just a Thanks For Having Me Over present. Given that when we drop Daisy off at other people's houses, we're lucky to remember her underwear and medicine, so I can't imagine we'll be reciprocating for these types of gifts.
After the mom left, we got ready to have dinner. Jasmine saw her plate of food and said, "Since I'm a Christian, I'm going to thank Jesus now."
It would be an understatement to say that I'm not a religious man. My parents half-heartedly pushed some Judaism at me, much as I occasionally try to get Daisy to eat a couple of bites of squash. I hate it, she hates it, I know she hates it, and she knows I hate it, but it's a game we play about once a year because it makes me feel like a better parent. I can pull off that game because I force down the squash too, so it passes the hypocrisy test. I can't do the same thing with prayer.
So, let it suffice to say that this might have been the first prayer offered to Jesus at our dinner table ever. Wisely, and uncharacteristically, I decided this would be a good time for me to shut my mouth. Daisy spoke up though.
"Well. Go ahead," Daisy stated, shrugging.
I think Jasmine was a little put off by our lack of piousness because she immediately changed her mind about the prayer. I felt (a little) bad that somehow we had dissuaded her from thanking Jesus, but maybe he would have preferred a nice sweater and skirt anyway.
A few bites into our dinner Daisy launched into a discussion about what to have for dessert. We asked Jasmine what she usually had for dessert at her house.
"Dessert? Hmmmm," she mulled, "We don't usually have dessert. Maybe some fruit."
I cringed, knowing that as soon as dinner ended, Daisy would proudly show off the literal suitcase of candy that resides in our kitchen. I didn't feel any better when we fed Jasmine ice cream and Holiday Oreos (santized of all religious imagery) after the meal. I'm pretty sure that Jasmine's mom will be hearing all about it the next time she offers up bananas for dessert.
To top off the unwholesome evening, we let the kids watch some Tom and Jerry, which features all the violence of a good Looney Tunes cartoon, but without any of the cleverness.
Poor Jasmine. It was Her Dinner with Satan.