Page 50 of Puck the Halls
You can guess where it happens theleast.
“If I do, she’ll yell. And maybe cry,” I say, stating the obvious.
“I know.”
“I don’t like when she yells or cries.”
“Weallknow that. Including Isabel,” he says, lifting a brow.
We all try to leave each other alone when it comes to our various parenting styles. We make decisions about the kids together, of course, but we each handle our kids a little differently while still following house rules and working toward our common goals of having kids who know they are loved, feel safe, are healthy, and can express themselves freely. While not being assholes.
Of course, there are times when we give one another “gentle reminders.” Like when Nathan wants to just throw all the toys with sharp edges away after he made the stupid decision to walk through the living room barefoot. Or when I would rather step on all of those sharp toys than make Isabel cry.
Not surprisingly, Michael is the level-headed one who pretty much never needs any “gentle reminders” at all.
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll go break my daughter’s heart and make her hate me.”
“And we wonder where she gets her dramatic flare from,” Nathan says, with an eye roll.
I grin despite the little volcano that’s about to erupt over some damn tape. Nobody wonders that at all. I can’t count the number of times people have told me Isabel takes after me.
Our family is fascinating and some sociologist should totally study us.
Michael is Isabel’s biological father, but she absolutely has lots of both me and Nathan in her.
She is incredibly smart, well beyond any other two-year-old any of us knows (so what if none of us really know any two-year-olds outside of her private preschool class) and loves books. We attribute those things to Michael and Dani, of course. But she’s got a I-can-not-believe-you-just-dared-to-say-that-to-me stare and a do-you-know-who-I-am attitude that I swear comes straight from Nathan Armstrong. And yes, this girl lovesallthe drama of a great entrance and will definitely make her opinion heard if she is delighted…or upset. Not unlike a certain hockey player she lives with.
I’m just saying that studying nature versus nurture in our house would be interesting.
I take a fortifying breath and face the dining room.
“She’stwo,” Nathan says.
“I know. She’s getting faster and louder.”
He chuckles. “You’re scared of a toddler.”
“Damned right.”
“Just wait until she’s fifteen.”
I look at him with horror. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“We can’t talk about that. Not now. Notyet,” I say.
He’s still clearly amused, but asks, “I’m terrified of her teenage years as well, but why do you look so horrified?”
“Because I remember being a fifteen-year-oldboy, Nathan. I realize that was areallylong time ago for you, but trust me, teenage boys are nightmares.”
He looks down at Oliver. “Well, notallof them.”
Oliver is my pride and joy. I would lay down my life for either of my children and I’m an insufferable optimist most of the time.
But Oliver will also be a pain in the ass at times. Probably especially when he's a teenager.
And I say that as I guy who, in his mid-twenties, is still a pain in the ass at times.
