As best I know, step one of any type of behavior-modification program is admitting that you have a problem. We took the kids on a walk this morning, and Marci confessed in the driveway before we even got the stroller rolling.
"Hi. My name is Marci, and I have a paci problem."
It was a pitiful and tearful sight, and the rest of us felt her pain. Osten was the first to cave and put in the call for relief on his walkie-talkie (that he just happened to have nearby!) "This is BOS-man to Paci Patrol. Do you copy? We've got a serious screamer in the driveway, and I'm the lucky guy who gets to share a stroller with the shrieker. We're going to need an emergency pity paci, and make it quick. Over."
Roger that. I mean, who are Daddy and I to deny the call for a pity paci? (But for the record, I will note that this time it was Daddy who made the mad dash for the paci.) It's awfully hard to be the paci police when we have yet even to make any New Year's resolutions for ourselves. I guess we need to get cracking on that . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment