Me to Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, six blink-of-an-eye years ago: “So I think it’s time to start dealing with our oldest child. Ever since she turned three, she’s been testing me. She thinks she’s Head Woman of the house, not me. She argues with every little thing I say, down to me telling her she’s got blood gushing out of her nose, and she’s like, No I don’t. And I’m so tired and pulled in so many directions with the other two babies, I could really use your help dealing with her.”
Kevin: “What are you talking about? Not my sweet angel darling princess Miracle Baby Cassidy! She’s perfect!”
Me, to myself, hoping God was listening in: “Oh, help us, God. Help help help help help.”
A few days later . . .
Kevin takes Cassidy to TJ Maxx to enjoy a little father-daughter alone-time-while-running-errands and to give me a “break.” (Okay, but does it count as a break when you’re home with a twenty-one-month-old and a three-week-old?! Anyway.) Kevin says, “Okay, Cassidy, it’s time to leave.”
Cassidy flashes a coy smile and runs away.
Kevin calls after her, half-laughing and trying to keep things low-key since the other “Maxxinistas” are already casting raised eyebrows in his direction: “Cassidy, Honey, it’s time to go. That’s not funny.” He gives the other customers his signature rueful but charming “kids-do-the-darnedest-things” smile.
