A Little Forced

Danger Monkey, age 9: “Hey, did you know I can use The Force?”

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “You can? Really?”

DM: “Yeah, watch.” (licks his palm and starts moving it toward her face)

LMT: “Aaaagh!!!” (runs away)

DM: (chuckles) “I told you!”

… moments later …

DM: “Hey, Dad. Did you know I can use The Force?”

Me: “Sorry, doesn’t work on Dads.”

DM: (licks both palms, moves toward my face) “Look… I’m using The Force!”

Me: (blank stare)

DM: (touches my face with spit hands) “But… you didn’t move.”

Me: “I told you. I’ve wiped your butt, which is much worse. Also, I had a little brother, so I’m immune to most sibling torture methods.”

DM: (slow blink)

DM: “Hey, Mom…”

Thrice

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “I’m almost done reading Harry Potter 3. It has, like, a hundred chapters.”

Danger Monkey, age 9: “No, it only has 22 chapters.”

Me: “Are you sure?”

LMT: (flipping pages) “Yep. He’s right.”

Me: “How did you know that?”

DM: “I don’t know.”

Me: “How long has it been since you’ve read that book?”

DM: “About a year.”

Me: “How many times have you read it?”

DM: “Hmmm… thrice.”

(long pause)

Me: “I love being your dad. You’re a cool little dude. And using words like “thrice” makes your mom REALLY happy.”

Danger Monkey, age 9: “I’ll get it!”

(runs, trips, falls into bookshelf)

DM: “I’m OK.”

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “He’s limping. We need to take him to the vet.”

Me: “I think he’s OK. No need for the vet.”

LMT: “What’s the name for a veterinarian, except for people?”

Me: “Doctor.”

LMT: “Right, a doctor. You should take him to the doctor.”

Me: “I think you already knew what a doctor was.”

LMT: “You’re thinking of someone else. I’m a puppy. I only know veterinarians.”

Me: “Well, then that makes perfect sense.”