My two goals for my girls 1) Keep them off drugs and 2) Keep them off the pole.

 I’m not sure number two is as achievable as I once thought.


Recently, we went to eat at the default restaurant of choice, Cracker Barrel. I say default because our conversation always goes something like:


“Where do you want to eat?”

“I don’t care.”

“Like, you really don’t care or you mean to say not Mexican, Chinese, Pizza, or Burgers?”

“I don’t care…”

“Let’s get burgers, that sounds really good right now.”

“Ehhh I don’t really want that.”

“You just said..”

“Don’t do that right now I just don’t want burgers..”

“Fine, you pick.”

“I picked last time.”

“Well you don’t like my picks so I don’t care.”

“If you would eat something other than the same four freaking things!”

“I’m soooo sorry that I like to branch out from Cracker Barrel every now and then!”

“Oohh that sounds good.”


I pause and consider some chicken fried chicken with cheesy hash browns.

 “Yeah actually it does sound really good.”

“Why don’t we just go there first every time?”

“I guess it takes some domestic conflict to work up a taste for home cookin’”


So we go to the Cracker Barrel and as always it is delicious. We sit around basking in our carb coma and the kids start to bounce around from a Maple Syrup high. Don Threeto is feeling particularly unrestrained and she stands up in her chair. Normally I would be a good parent and say something but the Chicken-Fried-Chicken has my eyelids at half-mast and I don’t really care.

 Then she leans over and puts her hands on the table and like a cat in heat she starts twerking at an elderly couple behind her that only moments ago were smiling at the cute girls who reminded them of their own children years ago. That memory is now soiled by a three year old Miley Cyrus. I snap out of my stupor and realize that my three year old is twerking at eye level with everyone walking around the restaurant. We leave shortly thereafter.

 After sharing this story with someone who let me know that her child spontaneously twerked at traffic, I started to think maybe it is something genetic and humans simply can’t out-evolve the need to twerk.

 I have since modified my goals slightly. Number one is still to keep them off drugs and 2) If you must have a career on a brass pole, and you are not a fire fighter, at least have some dignity and business sense to make your job safe and profitable. We may look into ballet and supplemental accounting classes. 

 If you have conceded lofty goals for your children in favor of practical principles, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

 –Underdaddy to the rescue.



  1. Oh kids… I just returned from a grocery expedition where my two boys entertained themselves by turning both hands into guns and pointing them at unamused fellow shoppers — impressive mouth-ammunition noises and all. And their dad and I are as far from card-carrying NRA members as two people can get. Sigh… Don’t know if this will help but I used to break dance in restaurants — crotch-grabbing and all AND I’ve yet to dance for cash. My parents were convinced I’d head to nearest strip club to audition the moment I could drive. From now on I’ll think of your mini-twerker every time I head to Cracker Barrel. 🙂


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