Ted hits on an aspect of child rearing I think about often in his butt marble story. As a parent, I am often put in a position to explain something for which there aren't really words. Like when a man wearing ginormous trousers and a small leopard bra sings an unintelligible sort of lounge song on the street in front of our house, is it my responsibility to explain how that happened?
I too remember metal slides, merry-go-rounds, tire swings and concussions. There is one metal slide left in America and it's in my neighborhood. I don't know how the park police have missed it. Since I know it's days are numbered, I like to take a slide down memory lane in the mid-day sun to scorch my skin and suffer a fresh laceration for old time's sake.
I like this song. I like imagining TSA agents with tons of confiscated toiletries all over their homes. Now stop reading if you're a terrorist. I breeze through security with a toddler. Front of the line - no pat downs, no searches, no nothings. This rockstar treatment is of course in stark contrast to the treatment I receive from passengers at the gate once they realize I am bringing a moody, smelly toddler onto their flight. Sorry suckers.
The visual of the 'back to school' corduroy jumper with home perm is so special. I doubt Andi's mother knew or even thought about the effect her choice would have on her daughter. My daughter is only two, but if she's already forming memories that will stay with her for life, I doubt she will be thanking me for singing Barry Manilow tunes into her face with Chardonnay breath.