As you may remember, my son absolutely loves “sea treatures,” particularly sharks. In addition to an extensive collection of shark toys, he’s amassed quite a library of shark books, which he’s dutifully studied for months, resulting in a wealth of knowledge that continues to surprise my wife and me daily.
While reading him books before bed recently, we’ve noticed that he’s become quite the expert, which has prompted my wife to continually remind me:
“We NEED to get this on tape.”
As I’ve found over and over again, moments like these are fleeting, and while it seems like an everyday thing now, he could very well become obsessed with something else tomorrow and the Son Shark Show would be abruptly and tragically canceled. And so with this in mind, I sat down with him the other night, phone in hand, to document his aquatic expertise once and for all.
Here, for your viewing pleasure, is my son naming all of the sharks (and a few other treatures) in one of his very favorite books, Amazing Sharks and Sea Creatures, while his persistent daddy tries to keep him focused.
It was date night in the land of Twinfamy, and with the Twins in the more-than-capable hands of my parents, my wife and I were ecstatic. With a whole night completely devoid of anything having to do with tiny people spread out before us, we were out on the town doing the wildest, craziest, most psychotic thing imaginable–picking up a few things at Babies “R” Us while we waited for our restaurant to open at 5 pm.
My wife always does this. We finally have a moment to ourselves to do something awesome like pound tequila shots just before bungee jumping off the Washington Monument and making love midair, but just as I’m getting on the phone to book the private jet, she’ll say something like, “You know, we really need to go get more paper towels at Target.”
And the worst part is, she’s freaking right. We do need more stupid paper towels.
As we exited Babies “R” Us with our deeply exciting date night purchases (toddler socks and Balmex), my wife suddenly turned to me and asked, “So, did you notice my new shoes today?”
I instinctively looked down at her feet for the first time that day, because, well, of course I hadn’t noticed her new shoes. I’m a guy, and I barely care about my own shoes. I’m especially not sure how–as someone with literally four pairs in my rotation–I’m expected to keep track of all 47 of hers and ascertain whether the currently worn pair is a new addition. Perhaps I should maintain a Wife Shoe Wiki.