This being Valentine’s Day and all, I feel compelled to share these three little words so often said around my house.
They just make my heart swell — from supreme annoyance.
Of course, we’re talking about this simple phrase: “I told Dad.”
Sometimes, it’s even four words: “Well … I told Dad.” Effect, still the same.
Nothing. Well, let me correct that. Sometimes that little phrase can result in extreme panic and an all-out kidhunt when said kid says he’s heading out front to play but his father forgets.
When it comes to sharing information, Dad equals a black hole. He’s so absent-minded. Once, I worried out loud that he would forget something critical and No. 3, then just 5 years old, nodded sympathetically and said, “Daddy has a bad head.”
True, true. Plus, he suffers from the same malady that a lot of my friends say plagues their spouses — he’s not necessarily tuned in all the time. Luckily, I recognize his “tells”:
He’s looking at his phone.
He’s looking at his phone and it’s turned sideways (that means he’s playing this stupid golf game and listening even less than usual).
He’s looking right at me, but his eyes say, “I need to make a trade on my fantasy baseball team.”
After 20 years, I know the signs. The kids are still learning. Oh, are they learning. Ask the one who told Dad — with plenty of time to spare, actually — about the need for poster board, which was forgotten until the eleventh hour. Parental pointer: Walgreens sells it, is open late and is everywhere, just down the road at the corner of unhappy and harboring homicidal thoughts.
Now, he has many good qualities. He’s a decent dishwasher, he’s really good at reinstalling the shower curtain rod when it falls, and he’s great at video games. Oh, and in 2012, he brought me a piece of a co-worker’s leftover, chocolate birthday cake. That was really nice.
Still, I was mighty irked when this stranger showed up at our door late one morning asking us if we had a black dog.
Actually, we have two but before I could answer, Dumb Dog No. 2 popped out from behind said stranger and pushed her way into the house.
An endearing trait of hers is to sneak out, case the neighborhood for birds and lizards and then sit in the front yard.
“What?! How did she get out?! I didn’t even know she was gone!”
Poor guy. He just stood there shrugging.
I walked through the house yelling that Dumb Dog No. 2 got out and did anyone have any ideas how. No. 3 calmly jumped up and down on the trampoline. “Well, I was going through the gate and she pushed past me” — and then the not-so-surprising bombshell — “I told Dad.”
Dad, it was later reported, was indeed playing video games at the time he was told.
I could go on and on, but wouldn’t this space be better used trying to help the greater good by sharing a strategy for others with bad-headed significant others? Perhaps it might curb our country’s high divorce rate or at the very least, lower the number of instances children are forgotten at daycare/school/playdates/restaurants/stores.
My completely unguaranteed, memory-building method: Two weeks out, give a verbal heads-up that some event is going to happen. About seven days before said event, send an email. Two days prior, shoot him a text. Do this again the day before. The day of the actual event employ all three methods in a communication blitz that rains down on him every half hour.
If you have some sort of forum, like say a column, you could try the public shaming route. But honestly, I doubt it’ll make much of a difference.
