*I am upcycling this post for Terrye’s fabulous Humor Me Blog Hop. Obviously it’s an old one, as election day has long since passed. Just thought I’d point that out.
As my husband and I watched the election results pouring in last night, we jokingly suggested waking our six year old to tell her President Obama had won. As a first grader, she is WAY into this stuff, and was really concerned he might lose.
Of course, you NEVER wake a sleeping child. That is simply ridiculous. And masochistic.
But I was beyond excited about the prospect of telling her first thing, the minute she crawled into bed with me, that her beloved President would be re-elected.
So imagine my dismay when she appeared in my room and said smugly, “Do you want to know who won the election?”
Confusedly, I replied, “Don’t you want me to tell you?”
She said dismissively, “Daddy already did. He came into my room and told me before he left for work.”
*That sneaky bastard! How dare he ruin the only part of the morning that I was looking forward to!
Trying to salvage the excited reaction I was so eagerly anticipating, I prompted, “Isn’t this exciting news?”
She replied that it was a little exciting, but mostly boring. Apparently I was 12 minutes too late for her enthusiasm.
So, how is it fair that he got to relay the good news? And how does one decide which parent gets the honor of sharing potentially thrilling or delightful information with one’s offspring?
In my groggy, disgruntled state, I decided the following:
The person who has to wipe butts with the most frequency wins the right to share good news.
A few days ago, I was awakened from a dead sleep at 6:15 to the sound of my oldest child, in my bathroom, calling, “Moooommmyyyyy??? There’s poop stuck in my bottom!”
Who the hell wakes up that way? A mom, that’s who.
At a stalemate? Married to an equal opportunity ass-wiper? Here are some tie-breakers.
The person who smears the most ointment on the irritated private parts of children who are not skilled at cleaning their netherregions properly, WINS.
The person who hastily packs the lunch EVERY day of the child who complains about every single menu suggestion, WINS.
Getting my point? If I have to do all that other crap that goes along with our morning routine I should at least get the honor of the fun stuff, too.
OK, OK, perhaps I am being a bit harsh. As the parent who is around more frequently in the morning, (hubby is usually at work by 6 or 7 a.m.) I will be the one who gets to witness the excited tooth fairy money discovery, the glimpse of a possible snow day, the proclamation that today is the Valentine’s Day party,and other such wonderment.
|On Christmas morning, we both win.|
And my husband is pretty awesome. He’s wiped his share of butts.
All right, I concede. Good for him- he beat me to it, and he got to enjoy the experience of sharing the news with his six year old daughter.
I shall now write my concession speech. It’s time.
*Disclaimer: I don’t actually think my husband is a bastard.