Who's your Daddy?

I called home to talk to Jenny this week. She was busy cleaning the bathrooms, so Allie answered the phone. The conversation went something like this...

Allie answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, Allie. Is Mom there?"

Somewhat accusative as well as inquisitive, "Who is this!?!"

"This is Dad." I replied.

"My Dad?" she asked?

How do you respond to that?

The Brutal Truth

I am sure everyone has been witness to the brutal honesty of children. This honesty can be embarrassing at times. (Jenny can attest to the many time my kids have asked, "Why is that lady fat?" or "Is that a girl or a boy?" out in public.) Luckily for us this next bit occurred at the safety of our own breakfast table.

I get these tumors in my arm. On our recent trip to see the grandparents, Jenny's Dad removed a bunch of them from my arm. As we were sitting at the breakfast table, Allie leans over and touches the bandages on my arm. She then says, "Hey Dad, what happened to your arm?"

Trying to add a bit of drama I said, "That's where grandpa cut me open."

"Ewww, that is disgusting." (the 's' in disgusting is pronounced with a 'th')

"Yeah, it's not pretty is it?" I replied.

"Yeah, it's disgusting. You should put your shirt down to here (touching my wrist), so you don't disgust people at your work."

I guess it looked pretty bad.

Two days later, Allie and I went out to run some errands together. Since it was a Saturday morning, I had thrown on some shorts and a t-shirt. I grabbed my ball cap and we headed out. As we pulled out of the driveway, Allie looked up and noticed I was wearing my hat backwards.

With her impressive sense of fashion she warns me, "Dad, you better take your hat off or people will make fun of you, because you look weird."

Ouch.