Edelstein: An open letter to my 3-year-old daughter
Dear Daughter,
What the hell? I’m the fun parent! Have you not realized this yet? Seriously. When you ask to watch “Puppy Dog Pals,” I pick up the remote and say “Puppy Dog Pals” and before you know it, bammo, you’re watching “Puppy Dog Pals.”
What happens when you ask your mother if you can watch “Puppy Dog Pals?”
Well, sure, sometimes she puts it on, but most of the time she says “no,” because she doesn’t want you watching too much TV. This upsets you. Sometimes you even cry. Sometimes you even cry while throwing yourself to the ground.
And what about when you ask for a snack? Ask your mom, you’re likely to get carrot sticks or yogurt or something. But what happens when you ask me? I’ll tell you what happens: Doritos. Doritos happen.
And forget about dinnertime when I’m in charge. It’s McDonald’s, every time. But when Mom is cooking — like she does nearly every night — you’re at her mercy. Do you even realize you ate lentil soup for dinner the other night? I’m being serious. Lentil soup. Sure, you liked it, but still: Lentil soup.
I bring this all up in light of your pre-K art project (pictured). I’m surmising you were asked to draw what makes you happy, and you apparently answered … Mommy. And so that’s what you drew.
Mommy? I mean, that’s great and all, I know you love Mommy and stuff, but hey! What about me? I’m over here stuffing you with McNuggets and when you’re faced with a decision with who (or what) brings you the most happiness you choose her? Her? Ol’ Lentil Soup over there? I don’t get it.
Silver lining to this insult? While you’re wildly adorable and crazy smart, your artistic abilities hover somewhere between “not good” and “for the love of all that’s holy hide the crayons,” and so I didn’t have to bear the brunt of being drawn as an armless, legless, egg-shaped purple blob. Small victories.
And looking back, I suppose I’m sorry I brought this to your attention, asking, “Hey, what about me?” and pointing out the picture to you. The look on your face was heartbreaking. You legit felt bad. You were speechless. I can only assume you were thinking, “Oh my god I can’t believe I forgot about dad. He also makes me so very happy.”
That, or you were thinking, “Hey jackass, the fact of the matter is while you’re OK, you’re no mommy, so just keep those Doritos coming and we’ll let you stick around, m’kay?”
Either way, I felt horrible seeing that look on your face.
Going forward, I plan going above and beyond in the “make you happy” department (see: pony in the backyard).
In the meantime, know that I love you very much even though I’m your clear number two parent.
Next time an assignment like this pops up, don’t forget about me. I mean, don’t ask me to help or anything — I’m probably having a cocktail and setting some Fantasy lineups — but yeah, I’m here also.
Love you,
Dad