Chipper

(wrestling)

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “Hold him down while I try to tickle his feet!”

Me: “I’m not ticklish.”

Danger Monkey, age 10: “I’ve got his arms, you get his legs!”

Me: “Help. Help. I’m totally pinned.”

LMT: “I can only hold one leg.”

DM: “I’ve got both his arms, but I think he’s just letting me win.”

Me: “And now… the tickling!”

(tickling)

(much tickling)

(much laughter)

DM: “Oh gross! Your breath smells like potato chips.”

Me: “You know, for a kid who eats raw onions…”

LMT: “Of course his breath stinks! This is Dad we’re talking about. Don’t get distracted. ATTACK!”

(pounce)

(much tickling)

(much laughter)

(much love)

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Chips on My Shoulder

My Oldest, age 16: (walks in eating potato chips) “Hey, since when do you hide potato chips from us?”

Me: “SHHHHH!”

Me: (whispering) “I don’t hide them. I just… store them… strategically. And please be quiet before the others hear you.”

My Oldest: “This from the guy who tells us to not keep secrets. Nice.”

Me: “Hey, now. I only hide them because you kids snarf them up immediately as soon as you know they’re in the house. It’s one of my only treats, so I like to have some stick around in the house longer than 10 minutes.”

My Oldest: “Whatever. You can hide all the BBQ chips you want, I just want the plain ones.”

Danger Monkey, age 10: (from the other room) “We have BBQ chips! Woo-hoo!”

Me: (glaring)

My Oldest: (batting eye lashes) “Love you, Daddy.” (walks away)