Shaken, not stirred

It's funny how a middle-aged father sees himself.
True, there's no danger involved in getting kids ready for school, doing laundry and hosting play-dates. But the adventure has not been extinguished; it's just more shrewdly disguised. Let's say, for example, if I were to compare myself to a secret agent like James Bond, how would my life compare?
First, I do a whole number of things to protect the world from evil, by being prepared.
I’ve been backing the car into the garage lately. To you this might seem frivolous, however, it saves time when I’m running late for getting the kids to school, or rushing to deactivate an errant nuclear device. That three-point turn in the morning uses up valuable time that I could be spending saving the planet. Nay, the very axis on which our delicate little world rotates, is held together because I can just get into my Yaris and drive like the wind. Of course, I haven’t figured out why the world doesn’t need saving when I come home in the evening, and do the three-point thing backing in.
But see? Already 007 and I are like twins.

Then there are the steps that every agent must confront. I have to be able to assess a situation in a moment: Will my five-year-old scream to high heaven if I make her wear pants instead of a skirt? Will the three-year-old pee in her car seat within 15 minutes of drinking a juice box? These are decisions that require split-second timing; let’s see James Bond pull THAT off.
Also, I must be able to speak multiple languages, like whineish, and bratenese. To have the skill to decipher the ramblings of a child who wants pancakes instead of waffles through convulsive sobbing isn’t as easy as it sounds. Then there’s the language of their mom – that’s a whole different dialect that usually includes little talking and mostly the stinky eye.

Next, it’s definitely the hardware and software that all agents require for survival in any situation. The hardware, being plenty of wipes and diapers, which is essentially the gun and exploding pen of any agent. Things like extra clothing, activity books, dolls and an endless supply of snacks and liquids.
That doesn’t even include the skill to use these devices. I have to know how to put a dress on a Barbie in under a minute. I have to know how to quickly change a diarrhea-laced diaper in a restaurant before the smell kills anyone. You think defusing a bomb is tough? Try changing a diaper in a moving minivan 40 miles outside of Salt Lake City during a dust storm.
Software?
Well, a DVD player and plenty of movies are as important as a Luger and hallow-point rounds. Without those, I’d be dead quicker than you can say Moneypenny.
You also must have the ability to gather intelligence. What does that little fox say on Dora the Explorer? Do the pancakes need to be cut? Or, is she a “big girl” today? You’ve got to know the habits of those under surveillance.

Like James Bond, there’s an “M” at headquarters, which I guess stands for mom. She’s handing down the assignments, sifting through the intelligence gathered, and giving direction.
So, it occurred to me that there might be a few differences between 007 and I.

Each mission I receive isn’t hinged upon me accepting it. Maybe I’m mixing those rules up with Mission Impossible, it’s difficult to remember. Still, when an assignment is handed to me, I take it. After all, this is for God and country.
I’m not devilishly handsome, so ... there's that.
Oh yeah, also James Bond is traveling the world and having sex ...