Before I was married, I had a six-set theory on how to raise kids. Now, I’m a father of six, without a single, useful, theory.
Yesterday afternoon I got a call from my mom: “Where are you?”
Me: “On my way, I’ll be home in a minute.”
Mom: “Don’t come back just yet, go for a walk”
Me: “How come?”
Mom: “We have guests here, your dad’s had a bit too much to drink and started BS-ing. Right now, you’re supposed to be traveling abroad with your boyfriend!”
Mother: “Son, I left two slices of cake in the pantry this morning, now there is only one slice left. Tell me what happened?”
Son: “Aw, it was way too dark in there, I only saw the one slice.”
My son wants to have potatoes for dinner every night, any other food—he’s just not interested in. I told him: “Son, you can’t be picky with your food, you have to eat different kinds of food, otherwise you’ll be undernourished.”
My son yelled back, “Liar! I don’t believe you! Mosquitoes only eat blood, sheep only eat grass, and pandas only eat bamboo, how come they’re not all malnourished then?”
I was at an absolute loss for words.