Parental Moments of Glory
"My nine-year-old stepdaughter punched me in the mouth, right in front of all my groomsmen on my wedding day."
Right after my daughter was born, they handed her to me, and sent me out of the room while they stitched up my wife. A woman was clearning the operating room next door, listening to a radio, and singing at the top of her lungs, "If you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it..." I looked down at my moments-old daughter and said to her, "That's Beyonce...She's our leader."
Yesterday, I discovered that I actually can give my three-year-old too much Miralax...She ruined her new birthday dress. Just glad it didn't happen at her actual party.
“My parental moment of glory is when I let my then-three-year-old daughter wear the same tank-top/skirt combo for ten days in a row after her dad and I got divorced."
On the last day of school this year, I saw I had five missed calls as I was getting dressed at the ob-gyn. Then I saw a text from one of our 17-year-old sons. They had had a car accident—and hit a priest.
Damn autocorrect; it was a Prius. No one was hurt, but the priest and the Corolla were both totaled.
I have an eclectic taste in music, and my girls have been exposed to everything from Ethel Merman to The Muffs. My parental moment of glory was when they joined me in singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" in the car, at the top of our lungs.
The good news was that the baby didn't have a fever. The bad news was that as soon as I turned my back, he grabbed the thermometer and stuck the business end in his mouth.
This was not an oral thermometer.