We Pretend Our Children Are a Young Prince William and Harry
- Rosalie Berg
- May 20
- 3 min read
My husband and I, their humble servants
Parenting is such a beautiful thing. As parents, we give, we serve and we take orders from sunup ’til sundown. It is a splendidly selfless thing to be a parent. Every word from our sweet cherubs’ mouths reminds us why we were put on this earth in the first place.
To be servants — day and night. Weekday and weekend.
It is our humble obligation and honorable duty to swiftly meet the mounting demands and orders from those we serve, despite the impossibility of meeting any of them —
Make it stop raining.
My eggs are too yellow — I want them more white!
My water is too cold, can you make it warmer!? NO, not in the microwave!!!
Find me a seedless strawberry.
Where are my socks? No, my other white socks.
Where’s my Minecraft hat? Yes, the one I lost two years ago!
Where’s my Brave Wilderness water bottle? No the one with the green background and blue straw!
My brother is chewing too close to me. Make him stop!
My brother keeps looking at me. Make him stop!
Take me to Target for a new lamp. Mine is boring.
Take us back to Disney!
Why don’t we have a Tesla?
Yeah, or a Lamborghini!
Where’s my Mojo Dojo Casa House?
Where’s my spaceship manned by Elon Musk?
Why don’t WE own Amazon?
All of this before breakfast, most days. So, to make the servitude of parenting even more enjoyable and dare I say, glamorous, we now pretend our children are none other than young Princes Harry and William.
The transition was seamless and the children didn’t even protest! Imagine that. To make it official, we’ve developed a series of rituals that we employ every single day.
Whenever a young prince makes a request, the attending yeoman must bow to demonstrate that the request has been registered.
When we finish processing their orders, we walk backward out of their presence. Never turn your back on royalty — but mostly it’s just to make sure they don’t break shit.
We always address them as ‘Your Royal Highness,’ or ‘Sir Fartsington’ and ‘Sir Ballsackshire.’
We offer chauffeur services to and from school, activities or anything their hearts desire. SeaWorld after school? Would be our humble pleasure to drive two hours each way for 20 minutes of entertainment before declaring “This sucks.”
When they return after a long day of school, there is always a tray of snacks ready. Three hand fulls of seedless red grapes — peeled, two string cheeses cut into perfectly symmetrical 1.5 cm cylinders with green toothpicks in each one, tortilla chips of the same exact size, no imperfections (ie: a piece missing), sheep’s milk smoothies with acai berries and blue gummy worms, and two Oreo cookies, cream scraped out.
We help them dress for every occasion. Young princes don’t dress themselves!
We draw their baths and always test the temperature before their Royal Bums touch the water. We sprinkle the water with virgin goat toe jam, to keep their royal skin supple and glowing.
We always offer them a list of entree choices at dinner. One option would border on absurd for royalty. Freshly shot pheasant gets old.
Their bedtime rituals feature dimly lit rooms, aromatics, stories of royals past, foot and head massages, and 60 opportunities for snacks and water.
10. They are always welcome to disturb our slumber, even if it’s just to stare at us.
Though most of the days are spent getting berated by imperious princes — there is the occasional please and thank you, or pat on the back for a job well done. It is just enough to squelch the urge to flee the royal palace and shirk all responsibilities, most days.
Once a royal servant, always a royal servant — and besides, there are very few places that require such niche skills.
Except Meta, Tesla, Amazon or any tech company with man-baby-bots at the helm.
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