My Lost Skyward Child

Posted: February 2, 2009 in kids, kids are fun to lie to, parenting


Fibbing.

The very best part of parenthood.

Some of my first readers know that one of my favorite pastimes is lying to my children.

My son, to this day, still reminds me that raisins are people.

Man.

His therapist is gonna have a field day with him when he’s older.

I hope she’s hot.

No reason.


Anyway, it’s been pretty windy around here lately, and this past weekend was no exception.

Between all the fucking snow we’ve had, and the goddamn ice storm, and the fact that it was below zero here lately makes me think that Mother Nature is mad at me for throwing all that shit in the river behind my house.

Seriously – the trash company would charge me to take away those car batteries and gallons of turpentine.

Fuck that shit.

BRING IT ON, MOTHER NATURE!! BRING IT ON!!

I’m cold.


By the way..zero degrees farenheit…I don’t do Celsius.

The only way I’d do Celsius is if Scarlett Johansson walked up to me and said, “Hi…I’m Celsius.”

At that point, I’d be all about the metric system.

I’ve digressed.

The wife and I had taken the two kids to the mall.

That’s right…the mall.

We know how to party.

Suck it, Lindsay Lohan!


As we ran through the screeching wind in the parking lot, I yelled to the kids:

Me: “Okay, guys. Let’s hold hands!

Daughter: “Why, daddy?”

Son: “Yeah…Why do we have to hold hands?”

Me:BECAUSE I FUCKING SAID SO YOU LITTLE SHITS!

I did not say this.

I did not say this because although Sears sells you all the tools you’ll need to dismember and bury your family in a shallow grave in your backyard…

…they frown on bad language.


Daughter: “Why do we have to hold hands? Because it’s windy?”

To which I replied:

Me: “Yes – we have to hold hands because it’s windy.”

* pause

Me: “You know…we used to have THREE kids. But one of them blew away on a day just like this because he wasn’t holding my hand.”

My wife, in front of me, just shakes her head.

She’s used to this shit.

There’s a pause…and then…

Daughter: “What was his name, daddy?”

Ka. Fucking. Ching.

SCORE.

I’m so good at this, it’s almost scary.

My kids are fucking screwed.

Now…excuse me…

Sears has a wood chipper with my name written all over it.

Ugh. Evidence.

Anyone know how to chisel that off?

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