Life is like a broken pop tart
Very carefully, I remove the silver package from the box. I tear one end of it to expose the treasure within which I try to retrieve but it is very early in the morning and I am as usual, deprived of sleep. I lose focus, I’m sloppy. When I pull the pop tart from it’s wrapper I accidently break one corner off.
“It’ll be ok…” I say to myself. “Maybe he wont think its a big deal and he will let me pour myself a cup of coffee and wake up like a civilized human being.”
What a fool I am.
“No! It’s broken!” The toddler screams, throwing the pastry across the room.
“Be reasonable!” I plead with him, desperate for just eight minutes of peace.
He eyes me from his stool across the counter. I look disheveled and vulnerable without my coffee. The toddler can smell my fear. I’ve already lost, I just don’t know it yet.
Broken food. Too tight pants. The wrong color tooth paste. These are the arguments which I have daily. I like to think that they’ve hardened my ability to deal with conflict but it’s much more likely that they’ve just eroded my sanity.
Tonight when I laid my youngest to bed he insisted that if the cat ate a spider, that the cat would turn into a giant spider. I told him if that happened that I would kill the spider. He then went into panic mode pleading with me to not kill the cat. This is the moment that my wife walked into the room.
She still suspects that I’m plotting against the cat.
Such is the life of a dad. It’s like the broken pop tart. Something you want scream about, but in the end it’s no big deal.