Staff meetings with six-year-olds should be avoided

Staff meetings with six-year-olds should be avoided.

I know that should go without saying… but clearly, I did not get the memo until I sat down with my daughter to discuss the direction our business wants to go in.

I start by reminding her that I write for a living (not really, I destroy my soul one minute at a time for a living. I write for funsies, apparently, and I haven’t even done that lately.) Then we went over that daddy plays video games for a living. (Again, not really. She thinks he does, though, so whatever.)

(Except this time she looked at me because she finally took his “I take care of you for a living” to heart)

(Fucking kids…)

So I ask what she wants to do. She blanks me. I ask if she wants to stream video games. More blank. I ask (without thinking) if she wants to open toys like Disney Collector.

Friends, she jumped up like an eager puppy. No seriously, she even panted. That’s how she shows excitement. By emulating a puppy.

I believe I mentioned insanity runs in my family. But we come by it honestly.

At this point, she wants to go buy a toy RIGHT NOW and open it on camera. Which is when I realize there are several flaws in my plan. For starters, I have to buy toys… so I explain that we’re only buying her more toys if this makes money. I’m not just funding… This is when the second problem occurs to me.

Where the fuck are we going to put all this shit?

So I try backtracking and saying it’s something we’ll be starting next spring because we need to buy a new camera and–

“Can we go buy a camera tonight?!”

*headdesk*

Why didn’t I see this coming? Why? Everyone out there saw it coming. My husband giving me the hairy eyeball saw it coming. Why not me?

It doesn’t matter. While trying to explain that she was going to have to go by a different name online she broke down into tears over not being called *name redacted* any longer, so we were able to convince her to go take a nap and if she woke up before six we’d go get her a small toy.

A small one. Like, a blind bag or something. Something small. One small toy.

She didn’t wake up in time, though, so we were spared.

I expect she’ll be demanding the toy tonight while having completely forgotten the pseudonym she chose and that we have a family business.

Staff meetings with six-year-olds should be avoided…

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