Sissy is our spunky just-turned-six-year-old daughter. She is one of those kids who is six going on twenty-two.
I walked into the front room where little "Sissy" was engrossed in an episode of classic Looney Tunes.
"Sissy, are you finished with your lunch?"
Sissy nods, still staring at the television.
"Ok, hand me your plate and milk."
Receiving the plate and cup, I notice two used Klenexes on the floor.
"Hand me those tissues that are on the carpet. Yuck."
Again without looking, she grabs the tissues and gives them to me.
"Thanks," I offer.
As I turn to exit the room, I see two balls of brown and pink lying on the end of the couch.
Those balls are Sissy's socks from yesterday: pink being their original color and brown reflecting the mud she collected after a fun evening of puddle jumping.
"And Sissy, please get those dirty socks off the sofa. You know where those belong."
Annoyed, Sissy breaks her concentration on the television, turns toward me, and frowns.
Handing me the used socks, she replies:
"Geez Dad, can't you do anything yourself?"
After analyzing this conversation with a kindergartener, I have concluded two things:
1) My life as Dad will become increasingly difficult as Sissy gets older and more opinionated; and,
2) These exchanges between Sissy and I will make for entertaining and spicy blog posts. I should have lots to write about in the future, but I may be smiling less and less as each post is published.
At least I can laugh now.
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