Skrip - tyur' - i - ent: adj. Possessing the violent desire to write.



Last night at dinner, I told Lily “don’t give me any attitude” in regards to eating her carrots. Lily, I will remind you, is two years old.

What kind of future does this portend?

Now, she was totally giving me attitude… she wanted to play with her food, as she does every night. The Scientist and I have presented a unified front on the “don’t play with your food, eat it” issue. But still, Lily plays with her food. I think her amazing imagination just gets the better of her. She’ll can’t help but take a bite out of, say, a carrot, then notice that it’s in the shape of a crescent moon. “Look! It’s the moon!” she’ll shout, then hold it over her head. She also like to stab her Hello Kitty placemat in the eye with her fork.

I shudder to think that if she’s giving me attitude now, at two (well, two and a half, really) what’s it going to be like in five years? In 10? I know as a father it’s my job to raise her to be conscientious, polite, respectful of others and all that. If she’s a spoiled, bratty kid at 10 then you don’t have to look any further than her mother and me for blame. We try hard to instill the right things in her, so she’ll turn out to be the kind of kid we want to spend time with. It was with all these thoughts in mind that I made an important decision last night.

I need to fucking break this kid’s will right now.


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