Explore the ups and downs of parenthood through the eyes of Scott, a dedicated dad with a knack for humor and honesty.

Something that challenges every parent, no matter how many times they have been through the delivery room, is having the patience to deal with everything that their offspring can throw at them. Oftentimes, it is not even important events that cause the rage meter to fly into red. Repeated questions, that smirk they get when they know they are making you boil over by not putting their shoes on when you have asked them 4 times already and the shoes are literally sitting right next to them on the stairs. The only thing they need to do is put the stupid things on their feet while you are trying to juggle the dog, their school bag, their lunch, your lunch, your work bag, your phone, the car keys and the neighbor who has decided that now is the time to stop by and talk about how your forsythia is growing a little to close to their stairs and blocking the far right side of their ring doorbell camera so they cannot see much of their lawn the Amazon delivery driver has parked on. PUT ON YOUR SHOES AND LET'S GO. Sorry for shouting. 

Now the hip answer for finding the will to live, sorry, the patience to deal with the little merchant of chaos that inhabits your home, demanding string cheese and go-gurts, is booze. The thing is, that would be so unfair to my liver. I put that poor hepatic hero through hell in my 20s and I cannot, in good conscience, ask it to handle all the good quality hooch I can now buy with my adult money. Asking it to filter the mid-shelf offerings, instead of the bottom shelf swill, at the alarming rate it would need to be consumed to achieve the mindset of not wanting to leave it all behind and go start a fishing company off the coast of Bora Bora would be criminal in some parts of the world, including Bora Bora.

So drinking is out; what is in? Sadly, I don't really have a foolproof answer, but I do know that not reacting has started to work for me. My little supplier of mayhem has become somewhat of a performer, and if she sees just a glimmer of dread in my eyes, she turns it up to 47. Repeating the behavior, actively rebelling against anything I say, and that smirk (which she 100% got from me, and yes,  I know my own parents are all warm inside knowing that she is using it for evil just like I did, so save it, you are not helping).

By basically turning a blind eye to what she is doing and continuing on with what needs to be done, she slowly starts to get the point that the day will continue to move forward, with or without her (if you tell her that it will not and I am just posturing, so help me, they will find you in floating in the sea on a half-inflated crocodile toy off the coast of Bora Bora without any idea how you got there). Normally she will do what I ask and come running. This is not an easy skill; it takes years of practice even to get okay at it, and it does not always work. Occasionally she doubles down and digs her stubborn heels (also from me) in and roots herself to the spot. These moments make me happy that I am bigger than her and can still carry her around, because the answer at this point is to pick her up and just carry her like a grocery bag. It is easier than negotiating with someone who knows they have already won, or moving to Bora Bora.