There was a knock at the door. It was not the normal, timid knock that neighbors give when perhaps they are dropping off some cookies. It was the kind that shook the door in its frame and had a deepness to it like to roar of a lion at the zoo. The dogs went absolutely bat shit crazy which caused my wife to start yelling at the top of her lungs to “shut up”. I was the only one in the house that recognized this knock for what it was because I have used it.
It had been a pretty bad day already. It was not meant to be. It was meant to be one of those family days that you are to remember for the rest of your life. It was supposed to be one of those days that was to be talked about at my eulogy to describe what a great superdad I was and what a great family we were.
It started off early in the morning, around 7:00. That’s when Little Hoss is accustomed to getting up. She has no real concept of the “weekend” or of “sleeping in”. It was Saturday and for the love of god I just wanted to sleep past 8. I had made the mistake of playing Xbox until after Midnight and was very tired.
Little Hoss wailed causing both the dogs to run away to a quieter part of the house. Rat bastard cowards, that is what my dogs are. This is an open invitation for anyone to rob my house because although my dogs sound great when they bark, they are pansies. My bigger dog, a boxer, has actually taken my daughters Princes Barbie foam chair to lay on. How appropriate. But he is sweet with my family and that is what really matters.
I laid there, waiting for my wife to get up. This is the possum strategy. I am the king of this strategy. Fake sleep and wait for your partner to finally give in, thinking that I am in la la land and therefore I can’t get in trouble for being lazy. When Little Hoss was feeding at night, I did this all the time.
This goes on for a good 15 minutes until it reaches the point that I think we might be shooting for child neglect. I can’t take it anymore and wonder if my wife is ok since she hasn’t gotten up yet. I sit up in bed and look at the clock, 7:05 on a Sat. Then I see my wife’s eyes open. I have been out possumed. I get into her a little, asking her why she didn’t get up if she heard the baby crying. That’s when she lets me know that I was muttering about how I wanted to sleep and that she knew I was awake. I have no defense, it’s time to get up.
But that’s really ok because we have big plans today and superdad has a Day O Fun planed. We are first going to meet my brother and my niece at a soccer game. Although my daughter is to young to play with 3 year olds and soccer, she will nonetheless attempt to steal the ball and possibly knee cap some other kids. She is not really the shy type in groups and totally functions on the ID at the current moment. If she wants it, she wants it know. But that’s a whole other blog.
We get dressed and eat breakfast and head on out. I get on the freeway and look for my exit. I have never been here before so I am not sure I know where I am going. Little Hoss is helping with directions by yelling some more to let me know that I better get there and get there fast. I keep promising her that she will have a great day if she will just cooperate just a little. I am normally able to tune out the random screaming and letting her throw her little tantrums. But today, well, she has taken that last nerve and is currently stomping the hell out of it like a soccer hooligan.
To my ever manly embarrassment, I am lost. I have passed the exit, which apparently doesn’t exist and I must remember to write an email to Google Maps and tell them to suck my balls. I have gone to what I find out later a good 30 miles passed where I need to be. Superdad is not being very super today. Little Hoss is continue to yell and it’s getting close to 10:00 which is time for a morning nap.
We have been on the road for an hour by the time we get home. No soccer, no playing with other kids, no seeing the cousin. I am an utter failure and my daughter knows it.
I let my wife know what happened as I put Little Hoss down. I go and sit in my bed and play a game, the sweet stress release that is XBOX. But Little Hoss doesn’t want to go down now. This is a extreme condition that parents called over tired. The child is apparently to tired and to crabby to go to bed. I think that she just wants to punish me. Eventually she quiets down and sleeps.
But the Day O Fun is just about to get good. We have a birthday swim party today at 1:00. My daughter has never been a pool yet and so I figured we would have some good father/daughter time with me teaching her about water and showing her how to pee in the pool and then slowly walk away.
But Little Hoss is not ready to get up when I get her up. She still wants to nap and this pisses her off even more. She has this look that she gives me when she is not happy with me. I swear to god if she just added a sigh when she gives the look, it would be the spitting image of my wife’s look when I throw away a pair of her old shoes.
We eat a little lunch and pack up the family roadster and we are back on the road. Again, I am not sure where I am going but feel pretty confident this time. We are all decked out in our swimsuits, cute hats and the dad approved jam swimming trunks. We are going to have a great time, dammit, now everyone in the farking car and shut up and enjoy the great time that you are having!
We get to the pool which took us about 40 minutes and lug our massive amount of pool crap. If it was just me, I wouldn’t even bring a towel. I air dry baby, let the honeys get a look.
We go to the front desk and tell them that we are here for the birthday party. The very nice lady, with very little judgment, informs us that there are no parties today. Um, excuse me, you want to check your schedule again? It should say Hossman family Day O Fun. Nope, no dice. My wife looks at me and then we head back to the car. I grab the invitation and then realize that it says Sunday on it, not Sat. This is my fault. This one of my friends and I told my wife Sat. Now I get the look from both my screaming daughter and my disappointed wife.
We debate going into the pool anyway but Little Hoss needs some more sleep and food and pregnant Hossmom looks a little beaten down. Hossdad/superdad looks like he needs a stiff shot of the corn whiskey.
So back home we go and we eat lunch. My daughter is sufficiently pissed off enough at this point that she is hurling several pieces of bologna at my head. I can’t blame her, I deserve this.
We all take a nap, things appear to settle down and we get up for some dinner. We are sitting on the floor, enjoying our failed day when the knock comes.
It’s loud and sounds with authority. My wife yells at the dogs and I pick Little Hoss up, who was busy playing with the phone. I know, I shouldn’t do this, but it’s the complete parent give up where it makes her happy so screw it, dial China for all I care, it’s worth the 100 bucks.
My wife opens the door, a little apprehensive. There is a policeman at our front door and I can see the squad car lights flashing behind him. We are a bit shocked at first until he speaks. He lets us know that someone just called 911 from our house. It wasn’t me and it wasn’t my wife.
I look at Little Hoss in my arms, still holding the phone. I take the phone from her and look at the number. The number is about 20 digits long by this time, but it’s the first 3 that are the ones that count: 911.
Little Hoss has turned me in. That rat fink has squealed on her old man. She has called the fiveo. She is a stoolie and I am the fugitive. I know that it wasn’t the Day O Fun I promised but this is a bit extreme, don’t you think?
Lucky for us the cop is very understanding once we explain what happened and that the yelling was only at the dogs, not our daughter. He starts laughing which is a good sign. I’m not laughing because I have a traitor in my arms. But she has made her point, the Day O Fun shall always continue and I better learn how to improvise before I get sent up to San Quentin.
At the end of it, I give my daughter some ice cream which she loves. I find my freedom is worth more to me if I keep her happy.
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