“We are the crazy ones…we color outside the lines for fun…we march to the beat of a different drum…’cause we are the crazy ones.” Stellar Revival’s “The Crazy Ones” is a great hard rock song that, by all rights, should be playing on a 24/7 loop in my house.
It’s Monday morning. The weekly grind has started, and the countdown to the relaxation of the weekend has already begun. Unless of course, you live amongst “the crazy ones,” where relaxing weekends are nothing more than a mirage.
Saturday morning was my son’s final basketball game of the season. Even though the games don’t start until 10:30am, it is always a challenge to get everyone out the door on time. Usually, the mayhem ensues when Little One is forced to choose what toys she will bring to entertain herself during the game. But this weekend’s mayhem deviated from the norm.
Little One started crying because she went slightly outside the lines while coloring a picture of a puppy. In my attempt to soothe her, I came up with the idea of having the whole family color pictures, and we would all “color outside the lines for fun.” Given that Little One “marches to the beat of a different drum,” the idea was flatly rejected, so I decided it would be best to just ride out the meltdown.
When the time came to get dressed, Little One came into my room wearing shirt after shirt. Each one was one of her “favorites,” and each one was getting a little small on her. The shirt that sent her over the edge was a pink monkey shirt that reads “my brother drives me bananas.” Since the shirt was only a little short at the bottom, I told her that she could still wear it as a sleep shirt. However, my logical, pragmatic suggestion fell on deaf ears.
The time to leave for my son’s game was quickly approaching. I was busy downstairs, and Little One was getting dressed upstairs. When I asked her if she was almost ready, she came downstairs wearing pants, but no shirt, because according to her, she didn’t have any shirts that fit her. Never mind the fact that her drawers are literally overflowing with shirts. She found the few that were a bit too small.
Rather than just pick one of the many shirts that do fit her, she yelled that she was just going to go to the game with no shirt at all. Cooler heads ultimately prevailed as I pointed out that it was inappropriate and also too cold to go topless. Little One picked out a shirt and we miraculously made it to the game on time.
Just another day in the life of Hard Rock Daddy!
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