Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Where the Wild Things Eat Duck

She sits in her room, cranking at me and channeling her spunky energies onto a bit of paper. I wonder where she gets this tendency? We had a scuffle at dinner that included a packet of duck sauce leaving my hand, jetting across the tabletop, and contacting her face with a smack! I do not plan on getting a Father of the Year Award anytime soon.

Of course her older brother laughed. Probably not the best thing to teach him. At least not the laughing at other's discomfort part. It's all fun and games until someone takes Duck Sauce to the eye. And, it probably didn't help that I had just finished educating her about how Duck Sauce is made, "they squeeze the duck."

I chased her down and carried her around the house like she was a little angry monkey. She wouldn't look at me and so I caught her eye in the mirror. We spun until we both got a little sick as I kept trying to catch her glance as she kept her head turning to avoid the mirror as we make each half rotation. She had a tough time trying to scowl at me through her suppressed giggles. She recovered as soon as I stopped. She demanded that I put her down, and so I released my grip and allowed her to slip downward a couple of feet before I caught her fall. Again with the escaped giggle, and then back with the declaration, "You're mean!"

I suppose that is indeed true, and so I let her make her exit. I figure that will just have to be today's life lesson, sometimes people are just mean. I sit down to enter some receipts and now she makes her entrance into my  presence. With a squint-eyed, pouty-mouthed determined look on her face, she plopped a half-folded slip of notebook paper on the desk. She exits the room, her bare feet slapping the laminate flooring and whirls around as she enters the hallway. She watches my face as I open the paper to discover her artistic rendering of how she feels about my behavior:

It appears that I am being eaten by a monster. 

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