Easy Cheesy

I was once being chased up three flights of stairs by a perp. That's investigator lingo for perpetrator. That's my shot to impress you, to show you how bad ass I am. Anyway, he was chasing me and he had pretty bad intentions, as most people do that are carrying a big stick. I believe the words "pound your head flat" may have come into play sometime during our previous conversation, right before the running took place. But I was a smart guy and a little bit younger. And he was not young nor was he in the best of health. So when it came time to "get to skipping", as another perp once told me, I decided that my best course of action was to head up some stairs and pray for a heart attack. See that? I was keeping my head during a stressful situation. I could do that. I was great at that. I was the fucking master of it.

Then I had kids.

So let me ask you: How could I, who has had several guns pulled on him, who could handle any situation, get his ass handed to him by a 2 year old and a 4 year old. Seriously, I want an answer. I can't figure it. I have no idea. I once walked into a crack den, had dealers and users fleeing by jumping over fences, and felt completely calm and in control.

But now that I have kids, I find that regularly I am not calm and the only control I have, well, I don't have any control anymore. Maybe that's why I'm getting smacked around like crack whore.

Sometimes I think back to my working life, the glorified social worker with a little bit of power investigating abuse cases against the elderly. Then I compare to where I am at now. It's a huge change. Like the change you get when your 4 year old won't stop saying damit. I curse myself for that one. It's all me. No use to denying it, that one was my fault. But in my defense the REF MISSED THE CALL DAMIT! Surely you understand.

Hossmom came home from work tonight to find me splayed out on the couch. My eyes were vacant. I had spittle coming down the corner of my mouth. My foot was twitching a little bit.

"You have a hard day" she asked gingerly as if by saying it would remind me of it and cause me to go completely nuts.

"Nope, great day. Kids were great. Everyone is great. Great, great, diddly do dah great." I lied. I always lie about this. I don't want her to think that I ever need a helping hand. I don't know why but I do.

"Right. Where are the kids."

"Over there somewhere. Maybe tied up in the backyard. I'm not really sure."

"OK then."

The one thing I love about Hossmom is that she knows when not to push it. And today was one of those days. As a SAHD, as any parent I suppose, you are going to have some very tough days. And sometimes, you don't know why they were tough but they are.

Today was National Whine My Ass off day. It's a national holiday where all toddlers get together and coordinate their little Mickey Mouse watches. And at the appointed time, in unison, they all decided to whine and throw a crap fit about the dumbest stuff. It's not actually about anything in particular, that's not the point. The point is to drive Dad bat shit crazy so that he starts hitting the bottle, is passed out by 4. Why 4? Because that's when Dora comes on and they really want to watch some Dora. Then they get on Twitter and joke about it. They are very social media conscious.

"Bubba Hoss is in my chair!" she yelled. He had been sitting there for a good 20 minutes but she waited until 4 o'clock to piss and moan about it.

"Little Hoss hit me." my son told me soon afterwards. The non parent part of me wants to give a different answer than the one I am forced to give as a parent. The non parent wants to say "Well, don't take that. Go in there and kick her ass." But that wouldn't work, that's not a good parent thing to say. Besides, I'm pretty sure the little guy would get a beat down from his sister. No, the good parent goes in there and gets the whole story and pretty soon you are so tired of the lying and half truth's from all of them that you make everyone go into time out. So now no one's happy, including you because they are screaming at the top of their lungs and all you really want to do is sit down for 10 minutes uninterrupted and fill out your brackets. It is March Madness season after all.

Later you'll realize that you don't hear any screaming at all and you become concerned. You were so involved in setting up your brackets right that you left your eyes off them for 5 minutes and now the deathly quiet has you very worried. You'll stroll into the room and find that your oldest has discovered the cookie stash and is handing them to her brother. But they are not eating them, only taking the tops off to lick out the cream in the middle while they both chunk the leftovers at the TV and laugh as the dogs go after them. Oh yeah, they are having a great freaking fracking time. So it's back to timeout, but the time out is delayed.

It's delayed because Bubba Hoss had dropped a deuce in his drawers and he feels 10 pounds heavier. So you have to change it but are being crowded out by the 4 year old because she wants to see the big poop. And it is a monster of a dump. If there were awards for dump taking, he would win it in the 2 year old category. Or at least an honorable mention. It's a nice mixture between hard clump and easy wall smear so you have to use roughly 20,000 wipes to get it all. And the 4 year old has decided that she can't see well enough so she starts scaling the side of the changing table like a god damn sherpa. Then she gets kicked in the face by the 2 year old who loves to give me trouble sometimes when I'm putting a diaper on him.

She goes down with a thud and starts crying. You move away to pick her up and make sure there's no blood. The 2 year old hears the crying and wants to see what's going on. So he stands up on the changing table with a diaper half hanging and his pecker sticking out. You rush over so he doesn't fall or piss on the floor and now your 4 year old daughter feels abandoned. So you pick up the 2 year old, put him on your hip, pick up your 4 year old and put her on your other hip and then just kind of walk mindlessly around the house because although you haven't forgotten about the original timeouts, they have and it now it just seems mean. She did take one to the face.

That's when you wife calls and tells you she is going to be late.

Eventually you end up twitching on the couch.

I had a client once that was determined to shoot her husband. The only problem was that she was blind so I'm guessing was not a good shot. Anyone want to take a guess who walked into the room to calm things down?

How is that easier than this?