So, last night, I'm reading One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish to The Littlest Critic when we come to the following page:
whereupon, my beloved daughter for whom I gave up a good job for a part-time crappy night shift job; for whom I stayed home all day for four years, changing diapers, making food, playing games; who I took to the doctor; who I played with at home, at the zoo, at the playground; my beloved little monster turns to me and says:
"What is he, like a daddy or something?"
Like a stake through the heart that kid sometimes.
I've never had a more penetrating critique of my parenting style than that moment right there. So I made a promise on the spot: Less yelling. Decidedly less yelling.