No April Foolin'

The other day my daughter and I were reading one of her story books about opposites: over and under, off and on, and this sort of thing. Then we get to the page where there are four clowns. She points to the tall one and says “That’s Daddy.”
“That’s nice.” I reply.
Then she points to the short one and says “That’s me.”
“Which one am I?” I ask. Then she points to the fat one. (I guess its not PC to say 'fat' anymore...the 'larger' one?)

Well, how about that? This child whom I adore, who I sacrificed health, independence and sometimes sanity for, has struck a blow deep into my core. So I look at her lovingly and move on to the next page.

Anyone who says that you have children to complete yourself, or fill a void, really doesn’t understand parenthood at all. Children are painfully candid and innocently honest. Someone without a strong sense of themselves might find themselves unnecessarily wounded by statements like, “Mommy, why do you have a mustache?” or “Did they have trees when you were little back in the olden days?”

Having children is the single event most challenging to our egos. Anyone who has them knows. And they will tell anything to anyone at anytime, mostly at the wrong time. Like when my friend’s son, who I had referred to as my “best friend”, said “Mom, I thought you said Lisa was your best friend?” Ouch. Well, my parents never said life was easy. I didn’t realize they were speaking out of the new wisdom that came with parenthood (I had probably just exposed something they said just before this revelation).

Well, we keep telling them that honesty is the best policy. And they are a frank reminder that those little white lies serve an important purpose. Life is full of embarrassment, especially at the hand of our children. But it’s all worth it. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Honest.