parent of the year

It is time to confess for sins committed upon those I love most dearly. I write upon this blog and ask for forgiveness. I pour out my transgressions before you, oh mighty Google server, and beg for a new beginning. Let not my latent desires and ill-deeds sway me from my moment of contrition. May I rise up by the end of this post with a renewed spirit and purified heart, free from trans-fats and bad cholesterol.

• I have served food-court cooked pizza, glistening in the devil's oil, teeming in Satan's carbohydrates, to my three year old son.

• There have been numerous moments of unneeded bathroom breaks. In an effort to seek solace, I have concocted fictitious gastro-intestinal issues as a means of leaving the cacophony of my children.

• Snoring is a but a ruse, soporifically created noises to avoid rising at early hours with my progeny.

• There be death in Dallas, or so I have uttered to my son. I have Jim Jones-ed him with heretical anti-Cowboy sentiments. And yet, the Eagles be but 8 and 8. Fostering an ill-deserved antipathy of a flat city-scape in my three year old son is nothing more than the rotten actions of a fanatical, championship-deprived Philadelphian. But if he should be a fan of 'dem Cowboys...Oh Great One, may I continue to work on purging myself of this ailment...

• Elmo Visits The Doctor has more words than I have read aloud. To hasten bedtime routines, I have arbitrarily cut superfluous sentences. If by chance my decision to skip over Elmo's observation of the tongue-depressors offends you, please, Great One, accept my plea. I shall forever read all words and from this day forward, I will give all pediatric medical supplies their due reading.

• The television does not run on six D-cell batteries! How many Backyardigans a three year-old can watch over and over and over again is nothing short of mesmerizing. At some point, desperate and out-matched, I had no other means of stopping his television consumption. Is it possible, Great One, that 'no' does not mean 'no' to a three year old? Show me the way, but make me not remove my flat-panel 32" LCD HDTV and Verizon Fios with OnDemand and 400 hours of DVR storage.
  

• Need for Speed 2: Hot Putsuit is not an age-appropriate video-game for a three year old. "Dad, I got busted" is a sentence ladled with a disproportionate amount of toddler disrespect. May I work with my son and help him to curb his usage of such language. Let me teach him how to turn without crashing into a tree.

May the words of my heart be acceptable to you, my rock, my redeemer, and may the new year be an opportunity to prove my worth.

Humbly and contritely your servant ever,
Ken