Welp, I finally did it. I finally made "The Call".
I have been a stay at home dad for a good 10 months now and have never made the call. I take pride in it. I take pride that I have never been so fed up with my kids that I have had to call my wife and demand that she come home and take care of them.
10 months with no call. 10 months of handleing every little bruise, scrap and cage match between Little Hoss and Bubba Hoss. 10 months of proving myself. 10 months of taking every possible beating and surviving. 10 months. And now the streak is broken and all gone to shit.
It started in the morning. Little Hoss got up at 6:30, went into my closet and started tugging on a blue jersey I have hanging in their.
"Daddy, wear this." She says. At least I think she says this but I can't really be sure because at the exact same time Bubba Hoss decides that it's about fucking time that someone start paying attention to him. Then the dogs start going crazy because they want to go outside and chase the squirrel that has been giving them attitude. I spent 5 minutes laying in bed wondering if I was going to get up at all. Maybe if I "accidently" broke my arm Hossmom would have to stay home. I didn't answer anyone while I was thinking this. And what happens when the needy don't get a response. Do they pipe down? Do they find something else to entertain them. Nope, they just all scream louder and go crazier.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy, WAAAAAAAAAAAa, daddy, daddy, BARK, WAAAAAA, Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, BARK, BARK, BARK, DAddy, WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA."
Not the best way to start the day but we get it going. I put everyone in the car at 7:30 in the morning just to get them all to be quiet for a minute. We drive around aimlessly. It was great.
We get back 30 minutes later and just hang out. 2 temper tantrums occur. No biggie, I'm rocking them now. She gets out barely a scream before we are sitting in the timeout chair.
We go to my SAHD playgroup. this is usually a fun time. Not so much today. Every kid there is in a mood. Every. Single. One. We have more meltdowns that I thought possible. And believe it or not, the worst were the kids 1 and under. One would start screaming and it would start some chain reaction of toddler screaming until we had a good 5 or 6 going at one time. It was like a little screaming toddler avalanche of chaos and scream. Then there are the chorus from the other kids who all need daddy.
"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, WAAAAA, WAAAa, WAAAA, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy she hit me, Daddy, WAAAAA, Daddy he has my toy."
We end it and come home. I've had about enough and am ready for a little break. That's why god invented naptime. I put Little Hoss down and went and played a little video game.
2 hours later I go back up to her room realizing that she never went to sleep and just played by herself which is fine by me. I open the door and she's smiling. I'm thinking that maybe we can salvage this day a little bit. She comes out and gives me a hug and we start walking down stairs. Then I notice the nub of a crayon in her hand. It's no more than a half an inch long, paper torn off and dull from over use. How did she get a crayon in her room? I never allow them. What could she possibly be doing with a crayon in her ro...................................
I run back to her room and there it is. EVERY GOD DAMN WALL IS COLORED BLUE. I'm not just talking about a couple of marks here. I'm talking full on Picasso at his finest art exhibit. I'm talking crazy coloring fuck the lines kind of thing. I'm talking enough color to make that blood vessel behind my right eye pop but not quiet enough to give an ever loving stroke so that I can purge this memory. It was fucking everywhere. Even the back of the god damn door. Last time she just colored 1/2 a wall and it took me an hour to get it out. Now, everything below 3 feet is a pretty solid blue. Or to be more specific for you art critics out there--Royal Navy Blue. And all that is left from a 4 inch crayon is a small chunk of royal evil blue.
I just cleaned this. She snuck a crayon in here like some prisoner sneaking herion. She probably kiestered it. I have no idea. So I just stood there, looking, not saying anything, about ready to call it quits and move to a cabin in Montana.
I must say, I am quite proud of how I controlled myself. This type of thing would normally set me off where anyone who is even breaking a minor rule will incur my wrath. But I kept it together with only a slight twitching of the eye to give away how angry I was.
You know what your parents said "We can't have nice stuff with you around." They weren't fucking kidding. Whatever you have, whatever you most cherish, if you have kids they will fuck it up sooner or later. Sticky hand prints on walls, people taking dumps in tubs, colors on walls, broken Ming Vases--all of it gets fucked up. A couple should have an honest conversation about this when they are considering having kids for the first time. They should say "Do I have anything that I really like? Is my shit irraplaceable?" Just throw all your good shit away, or store it, and buy crap until they leave the house. It's called the Patrick Swayze approach. In the movie Roadhouse he bought a POS car becuase he knew it was going to get jack up. That's what your life becomes--a Roadhouse POS car.
I slowly, and very quietly went and got the telephone. I calmly called Hossmom, for the first time, and let her know what HER daughter had done and want HER kids had put me through today and so fucking help me god if she was not home on time or EARLIER tonight I was going to tie everyone to the tree in the backyard and break out for Vegas. Let me know how they turn out, I'm done. Make sure you tip your waitress.
The timeout that followed was not pleasent. She listened to what she had done wrong and said she understood but honestly, I don't think she had any idea what I was talking about as her vocabulary only includes a few words and I don't don't think "responsibility" is in them yet. It was by far her longest timeout yet. I cleaned the whole house while she was in timeout. It was pretty great.
When it was done she gave me a hug, said she was sorry, then asked if she could color. Seriously, where is the fucking phone.