The Toddler Tyrant Diaries (Part II)
The Toddler Tyrant Diaries (Part II)
(I)
A colleague called in the morning.
I had just picked up when she ran over and yelled into the phone: “Uncle Haofei! ##%#%*#…”
I hurriedly carried her away.
(II)
“Dad, come play with me.”
I ignored her.
“Dad, I’ll play with you.”
I kept ignoring her.
The little one grabbed my arm and carried on with her absurd demands: Anna is frozen into ice again, she needs true ~~lo~~~~ve!
“Isn’t your true love Lucas?”
“But Lucas isn’t here, so Anna has to go find Christopher.”
My face was a mask of black lines. In a past life she was my spare tire; in this one I rank behind her mother, Lucas, Amber, and everyone else — a solid, bottom-tier spare tire.
(III)
“Dad, your hair is too long.”
I pretended not to notice her, standing on my chair at some point or other.
“Dad, your hair looks like a girl’s.”
Endure.
“Dad, your hair is as long as mine, and Mom’s, and Aunt Lucy’s. Why don’t you become a girl?”
Keep enduring. Then I suddenly realized the little one had vanished somewhere; the study was dead silent. Just as I was weighing whether to go downstairs, she came marching up, brandishing her craft scissors.
“Dad, let me cut your hair for you — you don’t look good as a girl anyway~~~”
(IV)
“Dad, I’m hungry.”
It’s only ten thirty and you’re hungry? Breakfast finished less than three hours ago.
“It’s fruit time!”
Where does “fruit time” come from?
“Didn’t we eat mango on Monday morning?”
She remembers pretty well. The problem is: I believe you were the only one who ate it, weren’t you?
“Anna is hungry, she’s hungry” (looking up at me with a pitiful face)
“What do you have to do if you want fruit?” (shamelessly leaning my head in for a kiss)
She took my face in both hands, twisted my head ninety degrees, then drew a deep breath, pursed her lips, planted a smacking kiss, and ran downstairs. The look on her face was pure “righteous self-sacrifice.”
With no other choice, I went down to the kitchen and brought out a whole sliced Hami melon for her. She put on her bib and dug in; I set up my laptop beside her and worked.
Mia mia mia mia…
Beside her, I slipped into flow state — like a martial arts master pressing palm to palm, at the critical moment of an internal-energy duel.
Burp~~
A resounding burp jolted me out of it. I looked over: the basin of fruit was down to its last layer. I quickly carried it away. Just as I was about to scold this little creature for her lack of restraint, she said:
“Dad, you can’t eat any more, you have to leave some for Mom.”
Damn it. She stole my line.
(V)
I’d only been working a moment when I spotted her drawing on the white chair with a red pen.
“Hey, you can’t draw on the chair. The chair’s face will get all scribbled up, and it’ll be unhappy. Good girl, you can only draw on paper.” I hurried her away.
“Then can I draw on the computer?” Her pen was already poking at my MBP.
“No, no!” I rushed to stop wiping the chair and block her next move.
“Then can I draw on the desk?”
“Not on the desk either! Only on paper!…” (nobody paying me any attention) “…I’m counting to three. If you don’t behave, I’m confiscating your pen! …One! …Two! …Mm, that’s better. Go draw on paper!”
“Can I draw on this paper, okay?”
“That’s your sheet music!!!” (breaking down)
(VI)
The little one picked up the toy train’s remote control and imitated my phone calls: “Hello, honey, when are you coming home? Oh. Okay. Be good, study hard in class, I’ll keep a close eye on Christopher at home.”
