I meant to go up sooner but I was enjoying my free time and watching an X-Files marathon. Scully does it for me, don't know why, but she does. I'll admit that I often stay up later than I probably should. But that's ok, sometimes I just need to be alone. And sometimes, like tonight, I don't need to be. Wink wink.
I take off my boots when the first kid comes down stairs. Ok, cool. I got this, my mojo is still good and I've still got my moves. Bubba Hoss wants a drink of water. Fine, I get him a drink of water. 11 pm and the kid has a dying thirst. So does his father. I get his drink of water. But apparently he wants a little chit chat with his beverage. My wife says that I could talk to anyone at anytime and about anything. I chit chat. It would appear that my second-born takes after his old man. He wants to remind me about the promise I made to play Skylanders tomorrow. I tell him that I remember. He then feels the need to tell me the Skylanders story again. I nod and say yes as I usher him upstairs. He wants to be tucked in again, I do that to. When I get to the door he stops me and asks another question. He asks me what are ghosts. Dammit, this is going to take a bit longer conversation than my libido planned. Can't let the kid go to bed thinking about ghosts, though. I tell him that there are no such things as ghosts because the Power Rangers got them all. Boom. No more ghosts. Let's think about Care Bears instead, little guy. I tuck him in and make it to the door. I'm about to take off my shirt, it's almost game time.
I hear my daughter crying in her room. Yup, have to check this out.
She says that she just had a nightmare about the books and series Goosebumps. She's been reading and watching that for a while. She likes the scary nature of it. It's like X-Files for kids. I've let her and have read and watched with her, too. It was a bit father/daughter time. She likes to scare herself a bit sometimes. She can normally be ok. Either that or I'm raising some sadistic killer. If that's the case, then I'll introduce her to the series Dexter. Not now though, she's only 8. I'll give it a couple of years.
It's backfiring me now though. She had a nightmare and needs her dad. This always gets me, probably gets all of us. "Needs her Daddy." When your little girl says that, yup, we all melt and not even a comet of death would make me turn away. Your god damn right Daddy can stop all the bad things in the world. It's what we all say because sometimes we even believe it ourselves and we need them to believe that more than anything.
She says she can't sleep in her room. She asks if she can go to our room. Nope, nope nope. Daddy has plans but I do take her to the couch down stairs. I put on Care Bears on the TV. If it's good enough to handle ghosts, Care Bears can handle Goosebumps. I snuggle with my daughter as she calms down. She isn't watching the show but she knows that it's on. The little voices and the nice music soothe her and thus soothes me. It takes about 30 minutes for her to go back down again. I try to get up to carry her back upstairs but it's no good. She somehow wakes up when I move and her claws somehow grab chest hair through a my still-on T-shirt. It was supposed to be on the floor an hour ago along with the rest of my clothes. I sit back down and continue to snuggle her. Another 30 minutes goes by and a second episode of Care Bears finishes. I pick her up and take her upstairs.
I take a misstep on one of Bacon Hoss's toys and almost stumble. I almost lose it but regain my balance. In the process I twerk my back a bit. A sharp pain, lower right side. Ouch, I was going to need that muscle tonight. I'll pop some aspirin and work through it in a couple of minutes. I realize that I'm much older now and that I should really stretch before any strenuous exercise. Old man sex stretches, it's very hot.
I put her in bed and start to head to my bedroom. No stopping me now. I might even brush my teeth before coming to bed and making some magic. I hear the baby crying. God. Dammit.
He does this from time to time, wakes up randomly in the middle of the night. The best thing to do is to just go ahead and snuggle him down for 20 minutes. I usually sleep in the rocking chair while I do it. But I don't want to do it tonight. Well, I want to do it but the "it" is something else entirely. I know for me to have any success tonight that the baby cannot be screaming in the background. Hossmom has this whole "good mother" thing going on and apparently 'screaming baby' is not considered foreplay.
I head into his room and he's in full-on meltdown mode. He's banging his head on the side of the crib, hard. I have no earthly idea why he does it. One day I'm going to let him continue to do it and give himself a concussion. Teach the boy a lesson. Not tonight though, I don't have time for an emergency room visit. That would surely kill my mojo because hospitals don't do it for me.
I grab his blankie and take him to the rocking chair. I pull out my phone and play his bedtime music, a mix of Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. I sing to him while I do it. He farts on me. If he crapped his pants, I'm going to let him sit in it. I don't want to be stinky before I go to my bedroom. He'll just have to take this for his old man, take one for the team.
It does take me about another 20 minutes. It's a little bit past 1AM now. I have wasted too much time, I'm actually tired myself now and my back aches a bit. My shoulder has gone numb from where I was holding Bacon. Ok, I admit to myself that this might not be the adventurous sexy times I had planned. This will be more of a 'marriage maintenance' time. Enjoyable and needed but perhaps combined with the smell of Icy Hot.
I head into the bedroom and yawn. I can still do this, I've still got this in me. I've dealt with kids for about the last 2 hours, I've earned a little treat. As I arrange the pillows my daughter opens the door. She doesn't say anything and actually scares me a bit. The silhouette of a quiet child framed in a door is the stuff of horror movies. If she asks me if I want to play a game, I'm going to freak.
She runs over to her mom's side and vaults over, landing right in between us. She snuggles in and in a period of less than 3 seconds is under the covers and snoring. No more nightmares.
Welp, that does it for me. I'm done, the magic whisper will in no way work now. I have been officially blocked from martial relations by my own children. I lay my head down on my pillow and think that I will probably write about this tomorrow.
Yup, I'll write about it so that it is forever a part of the Hossman story. And I know full well that my children will one day read my stories, the story of our family and their childhood. They'll read them when they are in their 20's probably, maybe show them to their significant other.
And they will come to this one, a story about their dad trying to get laid, a story called Care Bears. What is more safe and comforting than Care Bears? They will scream, they will be grossed out, they will close their eyes and just try to get that visual out of their head. But it won't go out of their head because they had to read this, my wonderful little bastards. The visual will be playing right along to the theme music of caring and sharing. Care bears will be ruined for them. Forever.
And they will be traumatized, a scar will form in their psyche.
My vengeance will be complete.
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