Published: 3 years ago

No. Just…No.

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(click for photo credit)

 

(An actual conversation last week while hanging out with my two youngest at Chick-fil-A. The name of the little punk juvenile delinquent has been changed because I can’t afford a lawsuit.)

Haven (four years old): Daddy, am I your princess?

Me (heart morphing into a puddle): Yes baby. You know that you are.

H: And I’m Mommy’s princess?

Me: That’s right. You’re Mommy’s princess too.

H: AND…I’m Ryan’s princess.

(Everything in my world comes to a halt. My vision goes blurry. My head starts spinning. If this were a party, the record would have just scratched to a stop.)

Me: Um. Uh. Who is…what…ah…I need you to…WHO IS RYAN?

H: Ryan is a boy in my class. And when I do this (she tilts her head back, eyes to the ceiling, and shakes her ‘fro back and forth) he just laughs and laughs.

 

Lord. Have. Mercy.

I’m not ready for this.

Ryan, I don’t know who you are. But I know where you go to preschool. And while it’s technically illegal for me to come after you, I know some five year olds with fierce dispositions who could use some extra spending money.

You’d better keep a close eye on  your kneecaps, kid. Stay away from my Princess.

 

3 Comments.
  1. Bob says:

    Danny,

    I’ve got to stop reading your blog while drinking coffee in the morning – it’s too big a mess when I spit it all over the place laughing out loud.

    BTW, it doesn’t get any easier when they are 25 and you’re ready to walk them down the aisle. From experience, just sayin’.

    • Danny says:

      Bob, the great news about adopting when I was almost 40 is that – by the time she gets married – I’ll be too senile to realize the gravity of what’s happening. I’ll leave the angst and vitriol to her big brothers.

  2. Josh Dyson says:

    …and that’s why the Dysons make boys.

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