For the past 9 months, Brad successfully brainwashed Ainsley into believing that reggae is the best music ever created, thus, she refuses to listen to anything else (it's actually Ziggy Marley's children's CD, but she thinks it's Bob) & requests reggae in every car in which she rides.
Thanks to our cable provider, we have a reggae music channel that continuously shows photos of people in dreadlocks while our dancing, screaming 2-year old yells "That Bob Marley, Dad?"
So I took Ainsley to Target to pick out some presents for her daddy. When they didn't have Thomas the Train pajamas in his size (oh, how I wish they did), Ainsley spotted some t-shirts.
"MOM! THAT BOB MARLEY!!" she screams, pointing to a wall across the store.
"Shhhhhhhhh! We are in a store. What are you talking about?"
Sure enough, on the wall is a Bob Marley, black Rastafari graphic t-shirt, certainly something my 30-something husband does not need to own, because he will
most definitely wear it every weekend. But she was so excited that I had to get it.
Then she saw a green shirt that said "Callaway Auto Parts" (Tommy Boy reference) & said "Mom, that's like Daddy's Dew!" referencing Daddy's Diet Mountain Dew addiction, I had to buy that one too.
Brad is so proud that he has created a little reggae-loving 2-year old, keenly aware of his obsession with a very gross soft drink. The pinnacle of parenting success, in his book.
