Sunday, January 24, 2010
Day 840 - Sensitive Materials
Something I'm trying to learn as a parent, mentor, and savior to my children is that I need to make sure I don't overreact to things. Occasionally it is a difficult thing to do because I have picked up many bad habits from my musical theater days. For example, if Andrew is about to grab a cup of coffee on the table, instead of a simple "Stop!", I end up singing the chorus of "Steam Heat" while doing jazz hands, the cakewalk, and the buck-and-wing.
Tonight, I was sitting on the sofa reading a book to Emma. When I finished reading the book, Emma clumsily climbed off of me. As she made her way down, she slipped off my leg, but luckily grabbed my penis and testicles for support.
"Ouch," says the collective audience of men. "I don't want to visualize that at all," says the collective audience of women. "Emma must have small hands," says the collective audience of women who have slept with Scott (Okay fine...it was just Lisa.).
I don't recall exactly what I said or did as Emma grabbed my chopstick and rice balls, but she knew she did something to evoke this grand reaction. So what was the only natural thing to do? Do it again.
This was getting extremely ridiculous. Why was my daughter trying to destroy the thing that helped create her? I tried to calm myself down and figure out a way to tell Emma not to squeeze the Charmins, but before I could say anything...she did it AGAIN!
Again, I tried to be a good parent by not getting angry or overreacting. As soon as my voice dropped to a normal octave and my balls dropped to a normal length, I finally moved away from Emma and told her as politely as possible that she should not grab Daddy down there. I was pleased with myself that I tempered the pain and anger against the more critical factor of being a patient and caring parent.
And just to make sure Emma understood, I told her one final time that it is very important not to grab people in that area. Her response to that was just hysterical laughter...which once again is a pretty common reaction women have to my area. Oh, the joy to be me.