Squirrel the Caterpillar

I think it’s every dad’s job to antagonize his kids.

Or maybe it’s just me?

Sam’s still a little young to know when I’m just busting her chops (although she’s getting there), but I’ve spent a great deal of time giving Heather grief. For instance, she’ll say something like, “Can we have pork chops for dinner?” And I’ll say, “No, but we can have pork bops.”

“What are pork bops?”

“That’s when pigs come through the kitchen and do sweet dance moves while we eat.”

“What?”

“Like this.” And then I’ll pull totally sweet dance moves as though I were a pig.

Trust me, the moves are sweet.

This Sunday comes along, and I’m up early with the girls. We’re watching one of those YouTube shows where it’s basically just a woman opening toys. It’s crazy how much kids love these shows, but then again I’ve found myself watching videos of people playing pinball for hours on end, and there’s a thing called Twitch, so I suppose it’s a sign of the times.

Anyway, this woman opens a toy and I swear it’s called, “Squirrel, the Caterpillar.” I say to 4-year-old Heather. “Squirrel, the Caterpillar? What kind of name is that?”

She just shrugs, eyes on the TV.

I say, “That’s crazy. It’d be like calling you Girl, the Heather.”

Again, she shrugs.

I gesture toward Sammy and say, “Or Punkface, the Sam.”

Heather turns to me and says, “Or Silly, the Dad.”

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