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The Napkin of Shame |
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| May 19, 2009
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"Mommy?" Zoey asked as she sat on the couch with us yesterday. "We need to talk." At first, I smiled at the grown-up phrase coming from my daughter's lips, but my elation turned to concern as I realized that phrase only leads to trouble. "Your napkins," Zoey replied. Every morning, Ella drags herself out of bed to pack the kids' lunches. On Zed's napkin, she draws a little picture. On Zoey's napkin, she writes a little joke she pulls from a joke book intended for children, jokes so punny and unfunny they would make Raven McCoy from Fox Force Five cringe, but perfect for the elementary set. "You don't like my jokes anymore?" Ella asked, more than just a little bit hurt. "No. I like your jokes," Zoey began. "It's the other stuff you write." In addition to the jokes and pictures, Ella also includes a little note on the napkins along the lines of "Have a great day! I love you! Love, Mommy." "I see. You don't want me writing little notes to you anymore?" Ella asked, even more hurt than before. Benjamin, some little jerk in Zoey's class, noticed Zoey reading and laughing at her napkin at school on Friday. He snatched the napkin from her hands and proceeded to read it. I don't know whether or not he found the joke funny, but I do know he found Ella's note interesting enough to tell half of the boys in the class. Congratulations, Benjamin! You've just earned yourself top billing on my Enemies List. Unfortunately, the Napkin Of Shame is not an isolated incident. The other week, I was lucky enough to eat lunch with Zoey at her school. Upon seeing me, she screamed my name, ran toward me, leaped into my arms, and hugged me. Almost instantly, she realized the social faux pas she had committed and dropped from my arms, smoothed her skirt, and proceeded to act like her public display of affection had not happened. She was still happy and excited enough to see me to introduce me to all of her friends at the lunch table. "This is my Daddy," she beamed. Her pride changed to horror as I said something she deemed socially inappropriate. She shot me a glance and sternly whispered "Daddy" to me, which I took as code for "Dude, you have two choices. Either you keep your mouth shut for the rest of lunch or leave. Your decision." So I spent the rest of lunch as a casual observer, glancing at her every so often to make sure I was behaving properly. The morning drop-off also concerns me. While I can still get a kiss from her inside the car as we await our turn on the front row, once the car door opens, I've lost her. I'll shout out a slew of well wishes as she exits: "Have a great day! I love you! See you this afternoon! Bye!" But she's too busy scanning the area looking for a friend to walk into school with. I'm lucky to get a "Bye" or a grunt out of her before she closes the door. It's gotten to the point that I imagine the thud of the closing car door is just another way of saying, "I love you too, Daddy!" When we go outside to play in the afternoon, she's quite content swinging, climbing, sliding, building sandcastles, and pretending she's a ninja with her brother and me. Until the next door neighbor shows up. Once Brittany appears, I cease to exist. They'll play in our yard for a while until I do something weird. Zoey will then say, "Let's go play in your yard" and they'll spend the rest of the afternoon playing on Brittany's far inferior jungle gym. I'm sure Zed could secure an invite if he wanted one, but he's still content with hanging out with Dad. For now. Look, I'm not some entirely naпve soul living in a fantasy world. I know I'm not going to obliterate generations of human nature which states once parents reach a certain age, they cease to be fun and change into something completely lame, capable of embarrassing their children with minimal thought and effort. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. In the meantime, as I count down the days until I'm rendered totally humiliating and unfit to live under the same roof as my kids, I'll fondly remember and pine for the days when she was happy to be Daddy's Little Girl. |
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1. foradifferentkindofgirl (fadkog)
May 19, 2009 22:35
I'm lucky to get a grunt from my oldest when he heads out the door in the morning. I'm sure the fact I stand at the door and yell my adoration and love for him as he walks down the sidewalk probably had some part in sealing my fate there.For now, I'll have to take all the love I can from my youngest, who still reaches for my hand as we walk down for the bus. But the days? Yeah, I can see them being numbered.
2. cIII
May 20, 2009 11:16
The "Benjamin's" of the world can suck it.3. otter
May 20, 2009 14:57
It is crazy how the same things that make us great soon turn into things that make us terrible. I look forward to being my son's favorite funny man but not the sudden transformation into hopeless dork.4. Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas
May 20, 2009 15:52
You mean I only have less than a year before my daughter starts treating like a socially inept ignoramus? Oh wait. I've been getting that treatment from her grandmother for years. I guess I should be used to it by now. With my 5YO's grown and my mother's age-related shrinakage, they should complete the transfer of power any day now.5. tracy@dreambox.com
May 20, 2009 19:59
That is one of the best Pulp Fiction references I’ve ever heard. As for your little girl, it sounds like she finding out what it’s like to make friends without the influence of her parents. I am a big fan of the speech accommodation theory, which basically states that people talk and act differently based on context. My best bet is for you to gently call Zoey out, and let her know that you notice what’s going on, and that it’s normal for people to act a little different when they’re around certain people.6. DCUrbanDad
May 21, 2009 21:21
So what you are saying is soak up every moment from now until then. Gotcha.7. katie ~ motherbumper
May 22, 2009 17:51
"jokes so punny and unfunny they would make Raven McCoy from Fox Force Five cringe" awesome. I am not looking forward to this stage at all.8. Allison
May 22, 2009 22:28
She'll come back to you. It will take a few years but she will. I'm 24 and I've been a daddy's girl since the day I could differentiate between my parents. My dad is my best friend and we went through our years of "teenage disdain" but we are closer than ever now. The most important thing is that she always, always, always knows you are in her corner. Even if she is acting like she hates you at the moment; that's the most important thing for her to know.Good luck!
9. Karin
May 23, 2009 02:04
I do remember the days when we cycled to school. Oldest son on his own bike beside me, chattering away, and second son behind me being his silent self. I remember the feeling I could simply instantly disappear when we arrived at school and how they, my loving sons would never noticeThat’s when you are supposed to return to your own life.
10. Kelly
May 23, 2009 13:40
Don't worry. Sometime in the far, far distant future, she will find you to be awesome again. I have to agree with the above post on that point. It will be right around the time she moves away and realizes just how good to her you were and still very much are. She will then again be daddy's little girl. And quite possibly give you several grandchildren to spoil and then promptly hand back while on a sugar high. Good times.11. Vinomom
May 25, 2009 23:43
Very entertaining. And so true. At some point we cease to be cool anymore. I totally feel you on the drop off line situation. My DD used to blow a kiss to me after getting out of the car and those are getting few and far between.