Our three year old daughter sat at the kitchen table coloring in her coloring book. We compromised after I took away the newspaper article that had her father's picture in it. He had won the small town's fishing derby a few days ago, and our daughter felt the need to color on the photo. When I asked why, she replied, "Because, Mommy! The picture is in black and white! Daddy had a yellow shirt on. You can't tell that if the picture is in black and white!" (With an answer like that, tell me my daughter isn't going to win the Nobel Prize or something.)
I stood at the sink washing the dishes my husband was SUPPOSED to do before he left for the store. Our daughter sat at the table singing and telling me all about how she "totally understands" how all the crayons can happily exist in the same box. Then, she moved on to what happened on Seaseme Street, and then how Dora the Explorer helped to rescue the baby "gato" (apparently, that means "cat" in Spanish. I'll take her word for it.)
I looked out the window to see my husband carrying two bags of groceries up the stairs to our deck. Instead of letting him fumble to open the door, I swung it open for him. He kissed me on the cheek and I could feel his day old stubble. He set the bags down on the table, accidentally hiding our daughter from his view. He turned to me, exasperated and said, "Why are some people fucking idiots?"
Our daughter dropped her crayon and from behind the bags said in her cute pixie like voice, "MOOOOMMM! Daddy said a naughty word!" He jumped a mile and pushed the tops of the bags down to see her waving her little finger shamefully at him.
"I didn't see her there."
I laughed a bit, "Well, did you think the carrots and potatoes were talking to you? And why would they call me Mom?"
He blushed as he took his baseball cap and turned it around backwards. My heart fluttered a bit. He looks so sexy like that; thirty-one years old and still wears his hat backwards. Our daughter chimed up again, "Mommy, Daddy said a naughty word."
"Yes, he did."
She reasoned, "Then Daddy needs a time out." She directed her glance to her father, "Go to the living room and sit facing the corner, Daddy. NO playing with my dollies, either."
My husband turned to me with a shocked expression. "She can't do that!" he said, trying very hard not to smile. "Can she do that?" He turned to her, "Can you do that? You can't put me in time out."
Our daughter smiled slyly, "Mommy can."
I finished drying the dishes and wiped my hands on the towel. I smirked at him, "You heard her, Eric. She gave you a time out."
Once again, my daughter directed, "Ahem! Go sit facing the corner for eleventy five minutes. No playing with my dollies or my blocks. 'Dis is for punishment."
"And how long does 'eleventy five minutes' translate into?" he asked me.
I shrugged, "How about ten minutes?"
It was nice to see that my husband humored her. He tossed his keys on the table and walked passed her. She reached her little hand out and smacked his butt.
"What was that for?" he asked, again trying not to smile.
"It was a spankin'," our daughter replied with a "duh" tone to her voice.
He sighed and walked into the living room. Our daughter followed, and cleared away a spot for him to sit. "No looking out the window. No playing with my dollies," she took them from his reach, "and NO talking and sass-backing."
He grinned, "Back-sassing, you mean."
"Hush!" she said as she pinched his lips, flattening them between her tiny fingers. I stood in the doorway of the living room laughing. Although, she did kiss his nose before wandering away. Looking at the clock, it was about 8:30 at night. It was time for her to go to bed.