We’re coming off Valentine’s Day and, as this goes out, I’m on a plane to Mexico to officiate my best friend’s wedding. Pour one out for my wife, who is staying home with our small children. I’m super sad they won’t be there to wake me up in the middle of the night.
Before we get into that good stuff, I want to share a reader submission from the previous edition:
My 4 y.o. son has been practicing his letters. He's getting better and I'd say he's totally mastered the letter "R". It sure did give my wife and I a good laugh last night.
My daughter (turning 4 in June) is whistling now. Theoretically, it should be cute. And it mostly is. But something just doesn’t sit right with me when, after she takes a dump, she summons me with an uncanny WeeooWEEE whistle. And, for whatever reason, maybe it was the thousands of soccer practices over the years, my body perks up like a dog, ready for instruction (“wipe me”).
Other things that should be theoretically cute? Valentine’s card exchanges at pre-school.
Like a sausage factory, the end product (kids giving each other cards at 11am while drinking hot cocoa and singing songs) is a good one. But getting there? Making those cards? Twenty-three of them? At home? On a deadline? Fucking nightmare.
Every single working session starts with a negotiation.
“Honey, we have two days left to get these done and you’ve only done three. If you’re going to do some this morning and some after school, you have to do at least 5 now.”
“I’m going to do 3 now. Then I’ll do 2 after school.”
“If you only do 5 today, we’re going to be in a major deficit going into tomorrow. You’ll have to do 8 in the morning and then 7 after school. That doesn’t sound realistic.”
“Actually I think I’m going to just do 2 now.”
“Do you want dessert tonight?”
“I’ll do 5 now.”
I don’t love how often I pull the dessert card, but I wasn’t going to let this child embarrass me at the after-school Valentine’s gathering.
She has none of my resource allocation instincts.
After agreeing to the day’s quota, the actual work begins. We have cards with cats on them, heart stickers, and markers. I’ll be the first to admit that we are not winning the “most creative Valentine’s Day card competition.” There isn’t one, but based on the cards she brought home, some parents clearly think there is… yeah, Nadia’s mom, looking at you. I don’t think 3-year-old Nadia braided all those horse manes with the multicolored yarn.
The creative judgments my daughter makes are insane. 10 minutes on one card, replete with six heart stickers, several different marker drawings, and some bespoke creasing to top it off. Then the next card gets just one line of pink marker.
I’m off to the side, signing her name on each card, considering writing a short apology to the unlucky kid who gets the pink line card (I restrain myself because I also know that, by some inexplicable child logic, the one-pink-line-card will end up being the most coveted item of the whole event).
By some miracle, we got the cards done. As I’m packing them into the bag, she says,
“Wait. I need to change something.”
She grabs a card. Puts a pink line on it (her signature move).
“What inspired that change?” I ask.
“That’s for Dean. He’s my husband.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah we’re married.”
Me to my wife: “Have you heard about this?”
“About Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah they’re married. They’re going to have kids.”
When was someone going to tell me?
Dean is actually pretty cool.
In classic dad fashion, I stormed into the after-school Valentine’s gathering, making my intentions perfectly clear, “So WHHHHEEEERREEEE’SSS THIS DEAN FELLOW??”
His mom is sitting right next to the entrance.
“Are you Carson’s dad?” she asks.
Turns out Dean is a good guy. I wish them nothing but the best.
How my wife and I celebrate Valentine’s Day.
We’re pretty unceremonious. We grab some chocolate from See's and drink wine at home. This year wasn't my finest display of planning; I left the house at 5pm on Valentine's Day, threading the needle between the twins' bedtime and our older daughter's bedtime. I arrived at See’s, rushed in and grabbed a box, then raced home. We had the chocolate after all the kids were down, and that's what really matters.
Except that isn't all that matters.
We open the box. Try one. It's… fruity? We're classic chocolate people. Try the next one. Also fruity? The next one, actively gross. The box just says "Assorted Chocolates," where are the classic flavors?
I start going back and forth, first just in my mind, about whether I should try to return them. But what kind of person eats some chocolates and then returns the box? No. I can't do that.
Actually, you know what, I'm going to return them. This is unacceptable. For $50, we deserve a good treat!
I'm getting kind of mad now. Why so fucking fruity???
Jess tries to talk me down. I'm not hearing it. I'm driving back to See's—it’s decided. I leave the house in an absolute huff.
In the car, somehow madder, I open ChatGPT and ask if See's has any public motto or marketing about customer service and satisfaction. Looking for a “gotcha.” I ask what the chances are that they'll take partially eaten chocolate back. I’m expecting to go to war.
To my surprise, ChatGPT is actually pretty reassuring. This is a good thing, because my original plan was to burst into the store and say "these chocolates are DISGUSTING" and just see what happens after (great plan, I know.)
I arrive at the store. Still a little mad—I haven't received any guarantees from ChatGPT, but I’m about 70% confident I’ll end up on top.
I open the door.
Standing there, like angels sculpted into a grand alcove, are four of the nicest-looking women of all time. They can sense my frenetic, angry car energy. Their smiles immediately melt my whole body.
I kind of stammer, "Uh. Well. Look, this is really not my style, but. We just. We didn't. We were sort of expecting more classic flavors?"
In one motion, as if choreographed, one of them approaches me, saying "We'd be happy to exchange your chocolates. It's no problem at all. How about a box of the dark chocolates?" Another grabs the dark chocolate box and put it in my hands, taking my return, like Indiana Jones swapping out the golden idol. By the time I realized what happened, I was being ferried to the register. The exchange was complete in seconds.
"I'm… I’m so sorry." I held back tears on the drive home. The chocolates were delicious. And See's earned a customer for life.
Kids say the darndest things
3yr old daughter: “I farted.”
Me: “You mean you tooted?”
3yr old daughter : “Mommy doesn’t like the word ‘fart,’ so I say ‘toot’ to her. But you don’t seem to mind ‘fart’.”
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This kid has some strong feelings about his mom’s appearance (delivered gently).
Call for reader submissions
Share the funny stuff your kids say and do! Respond to this email with a quote or a story and I’ll incorporate into future newsletters.
Thanks for reading! Hope you laughed. See you next time.
-Will
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