My daddy loves hores

All families have their own traditions. Once, when my daughter was three, she looked at me and said, “I think you might need to send me to one of those people that solves problems.” I hate to think that is the road we are paving…
Our favorite family tradition, before all of our dogs died, was affectionately referred to as “Family Fun Day.” This was the husband’s pet name for picking up dog shit. We had a boxer and a greyhound so “Family Fun Day” proved to be laborious and was met with whiney groans of protest. Not many kids automatically roll their eyes when they see six plastic grocery bags laying on the counter. Ours did.
Another family tradition? Happy plates. If anyone finishes his or her dinner, he or she is permitted to bang their silverware upon their empty “happy plate”. And then there is my favorite tradition. The battle of the favorites. I have been telling each of my kids separately for years that they are my favorite. I actually do have a favorite. Would I ever put it in writing? Fuck no. Then, I would never be able to milk it for what it was worth! Of course, I do have favorite stories, though.
Kid #3 (my nine year old daughter) never ceases to amaze with her creativity. When she was in the first grade, she was very excited about a Mother’s Day project. Her teacher had the students list their favorite things about their mothers. Then, the students typed and laminated their creation.
Kid #3 comes home with hers beaming with excitement. “Happy Mother’s Day, mom!”
Colorfully printed on an 8 x 10 certificate spells out, “My mother…” and then the students filled in five things. In order, mine read:
1. Likes to yell
2. Likes my bottom
3. Pretty
4. Nice
5. Something else I forgot after reading #1 and #2

Likes to yell??? What the fuck? And please let me explain #2. In the movie Madagascar, the animals sing “I like to move it, move it”. For years, I would sing to my daughter, “I like your bottom, bottom”. I imagine her teacher looking over her shoulder as she carefully crafted #1 and #2 and saying something like, “Hmmmm…that’s a good start. Can you think of anything nice about your mother?”
How embarrassing. For weeks, the husband loved this story. He continually hung her “artwork” on our refrigerator, which prior to this incident he only opened or closed. Thank God our daughter is such a budding artist. A few months later, she came home with new artwork.
She had drawn a picture of things her mom liked and things her dad liked. This time, I graciously liked rainbows. Her daddy? Hores. Oh, let’s talk payback. My husband has no affiliation with horses. I have no inkling why my daughter would choose this as the one thing he liked, and nor do I care; but God love her grammatical error. That picture hung on the fridge even longer.
Kid #2? Favorite story? One time, the husband and both boys were wrestling. The husband held kid #2 down and passed gas in his face. Kid #2 turned his head and puked. The husband does not respond well to throw up. I, of course, was not home. No one in my house, thankfully, passes gas in front of me.
Kid #3? He deserves his own page for his story. I will title it, “Willy and the hand jive”. Ewwwww. 4 bass in, 7 words with friends games pending.

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