My three sons have never been a fan of my fingernail cutting technique. Way too close for their liking and every blue moon, I will accidently draw blood.  I believe this technique was developed during their ultra-wiggly years, when you had to make every fingernail cutting moment count.  Plus the shorter I cut ‘em, the longer until they would need cuttin’ again.

The other night, 7-year-old Sam needed his nails cut, preferred not to try it himself, certainly did not want me to help, and logically turned to his second choice of mom. There I sat, rejected, and on the receiving end of many a comment about my bad fingernail cutting skills and the blood I would draw (honest, it was not every time).  Soon 5-year-old Ben joined in on the mockery and I had enough.  With a straight delivery and bitterly deep voice, I said, “I like to watch my kids bleed.”  Unfortunately, my sarcastic defense was soon turned against me, as 5-year-old Ben started to giggle and say, “Dad, likes to watch us bleed.”  Oh dear, not what I like to hear out loud.  Not good.  As is often the case, it looks like my sarcastic remark would have been best left unsaid.  I had better adapt or else the teen years will be especially rough for this sharp tongued daddy, especially when they no longer need me to cut their nails.