Thanks for the cordless drill, kids! But here's my real Father's Day wish list...
I'm only pretending that I want to sit next to you and watch it. I'm really planning on napping to Sponge Bob with my mouth open. And that's the only reason you're getting to watch your cartoon in the first place. So don't wake me up because Netflix is frozen for three seconds. Wait it out. That's all I was gonna do to fix it anyway.
The fridge is reserved for exceptional pieces of artwork. When it's half an egg carton with a pipe cleaner hanging out of it, I am going to recycle that. While you're sleeping. For Father's Day this year, I want you to put that stuff directly into the recycling bin.
It's not enough to just pull your own pants down. You've gotta lift the shirt up or else you're gonna pee on it (again). If this keeps happening I'm gonna make you sit down when you pee, and no one wants that. Don't be the kid in the stall watching the cool kids go in the urinal. Be a urinal kid.
Because someone put a lot of effort into making that dinner. I warmed it up for fifteen minutes, or whatever it said on the back of the package.
It's emasculating walking the streets of Brooklyn with a kid-sized Elsa-from-Frozen backpack on my shoulders. Nevermind that I kind of like it – you should wear your own backpacks.
Seriously boys, you don't see me hitting you in your little micropenises. Learn the region, respect the region. How many times have we had that moment where you run and jump on daddy while he's on the couch, and instead of a sweet couch hug, daddy takes a knee to the groin and ends up writhing on the floor in pain? Learn the region.
I know it's yours, he knows it's yours. Everyone knows it's your marker. But by insisting you "need it" when you clearly don't, you're only proving that you're a control freak. You're only inviting retaliation! Bad call all around. Just share the marker.
I am not a napkin. These are my clothes, and while I'll admit they are often napkin-like in appearance, it's not okay to wipe your boogers and jelly stained fingers on my pants.
It's amazing that a toy which sat on a shelf for six months, untouched, collecting dust suddenly becomes your-most-cherished-possession when it's sitting in a garbage bag by the door ready for a trip to the Salvation Army. Daddy makes these decisions for the good of the republic.
This is all I ask for Father's Day.