Her First Day Home Alone

I walked through the door after my first day back at work. I expected to hear cheers of “Daddy” or “Super Bad Mofo” echoing throughout my home. The king has returned to his castle, let my court relish in all that is Hossman.

One foot through the door and my exceptionally fine tuned powers of perception let me know that this was not going to happen. I couldn’t open the door all the way and stuck my head around the door and looked at the obstruction.

On the floor I saw my daughter, Little Hoss, sitting and playing with the dogs. They have a game where they growl at each other and it would appear that I was interrupting the final Jeopardy version of the game. She had no clothes on but only a diaper. In the diaper there appeared to be a large sagging bulge where she was sitting.

On her face is what can only be described as drool/snot. This a very specific chemical compound that all children make to gross out their parents. Snot from the nose makes it way down into the mouth where it combines with spit. Get enough of this going and it starts coming out of the mouth like some green ooze from the creature from the Black Lagoon. I’m pretty sure this is the slime they used in all the alien movies. There are special drool/snot farm throughout the west cost.

Next to my daughter was a couple of handfuls of dog food. My daughter loves dog food. In fact, she loves everything that has anything to do with our dogs. She has gone completely wild on us and it would appear that my boxer is as responsible for raising her as I am.

There was a trail of dog food that lead away from the door and to the dog bowls. This is where we will hereby refer to as disaster area 1. In order to prevent my daughter from munching down on dog food and eventually humping legs, I had bought a container and put all the dog food in it. It would appear that my daughter has figured out how to open this container which now puts her on the mental equivalent of a feces throwing monkey. Next she will learn to use tools and date boys that I hate.

And it would also appear that my daughter, not satisfied with the dog food not being fed to the dogs, had decided that the best course of action was to dump the entire 20 pound bucket over. But this was not enough to finish her performance piece. She then grabbed one of her cups and had piled roughly 10 pounds of dog food into the two dog bowls we have. Honestly, I was a little impressed at her structural ingenuity here. It was like two sky scrapers of dog food. I expected to see little men hanging from the side cleaning windows and watching people have office sex.

At this time, I have become concerned because it looked like my house had gone the Lord of the Flies way. It would have not surprised me to see the cat with a conch shell and a little blond boy with a spear hiding behind the potted plant. Where was Hossmom?

I round the corner and finally spot my wife. Have you ever come upon a person that you just know is whipped? As soon as you see them you know that they have just had enough and that the best course of action is to ignore their presence so that they don’t bring the wrath of God down on you? That was Hossmom.

She was still in her PJ’s from that morning. She had a T-shirt on but one boob was hanging out. Normally, this is hot. And as I am her husband, I did appreciate the way she left it out there for me. Gotta love the effort. But the boob was not for me but for Bubba Hoss who apparently had just finished eating. Hossmom’s hair was frizzed and she had a head band on but it was losing the battle and could not contain the stress that her hair showed she had gone through that day.

Bubba Hoss, now sleeping, appeared to be the only one not causing havac. Until I heard him let a wet fart and I knew that the truth was that he was just taking a break from his havoc wrecking.

“You’re changing that” Hossmom said. There was not even a Hi, or how was your day. It was just an immediate declaration that she was done.

This was Hossmom’s first time to be home alone with both of our kids. It was my first day back to work from my month long paternity leave. My wife was nervous at first but I had the up most confidence in her. How hard could it be? Of course, I didn’t make this statement out loud because I value my life and I know that my wife has a life insurance policy on me.

It would appear that the children, although just really getting to know each other, decided that now that the law giver Hossman was gone for the day, they would team up on Hossmom.

And it turns out that my daughter is in fact smarter than a feces throwing monkey. In fact, it looks like she is the whole mastermind behind the “drive mom insane” plan.

My daughter very shrewdly discovered that when Hossmom is breastfeeding BubbaHoss, she is stuck in that position and cannot move. Bubba Hoss eats roughly 8 times a day. So Little Hoss decided that she had 8 chances to wreck her 2 year old version of vengeance on any and all. She recruited Bubba Hoss, the two dogs and even the fat cat that hates everyone.

At first, she started with just a little experiment. When Bubba Hoss first began to feed she would walk up behind the chair and steal his pacifier. She loves pacifiers, they are her creepy Gollam “precious” to her and she is pissed that she doesn’t get them during the day. She would grab it and then stand just out of reach from Hossmom, testing her. Hossmom would try to reach and Little Hoss, with a shit eating grin, would take one step away. It should also be noted here that my daughter has developed a manical laugh to go with her evil genius. Once she discovered that Hossmom couldn’t do anything, then she went apeshit.

She next went to the dog food and took 30 minutes figuring out how to open the container. Then she pushed it over for no other reason than she could and loved the sound of chaos crashing to the floor. The dogs ran over and proceeded to gorge their fat little traitorous bodies.

Hossmom fished feeding and went to clean up the mess which took her a while. Then Bubba Hoss, realizing that his sister is about to get the thunder down on her, decided that he was hungry again so back on the boob he went. Little Hoss decided at this point that she didn’t want to wear clothes anymore and proceeded to strip down to only her diaper loin cloth. She then took this off as well and ran around the house naked for a good 20 minutes.

The fat cat took advantage of this distraction to cause additional havoc by freaking out the dogs and daring them chase her. Continuous destruction followed.

Hossmom finished yet again with Bubba Hoss and cleaned up for the 10th time that day and put clothes and a diaper back on Little Hoss. She even took a shower and started dinner and it appeared that she would salvage her first day alone with the kids. Then she had to feed yet again and Little Hoss saw her chance.

Naked in seconds she again flipped over the dog food container, took the pacifier, threw the cat at the dogs and punched some orphans just for good measure.

That’s when I came home.

The one good thing about this is that I have never felt so needed in all of my life. Days like this happen to all of us and this was just Hossmom’s turn. Tomorrow I think I will give her a squirt bottle so she can discipline them all from 8 to 10 feet away. That and a 12 foot long cattle prod. Spare the prod, spoil the child my daddy always said.

The Duece

I have decided that I need a phone booth to be installed in my living room so that when I change into my superdad costume I will have some privacy.

Not that I mind people knowing that I am superdad. This is another reason why I would be a terrible superhero. I would not keep my secret identity secret. That sucks balls. Of course I would want everyone to know that I am the one who saved the world and kept the sun from exploding. I could turn that into a shot on Oprah and then a great book deal. I would then retire and spend my time constantly reminding the world how supercool I was.

The other night I was sitting in my God Father chair. I bought this solely so that I could look imposing when making family decisions. When my daughters future dates come in, I want them to be shaking as I sit in my power chair and decided their fate. I want them to be so nervous that they flub their words as I stroke my hairless cat. Live or die young man, it’s your choice.

It’s a great leather chair, deep seated and overstuffed. Dark brown leather, with the smell of power coming from it. Yes, yes, the world is mine.

This is where I was at while I was watching basketball. I’m normally not an everyday fan but the local team is gearing up for the playoffs, thus I sit. I find it odd that as soon as the word “playoffs” are introduced into any sport, I will watch. I may have not watched the cricket team all year, but damn it if I’m not going to support them in the playoffs.

That’s when I hear a scream from upstairs. It’s chilling. It’s filled with fear. Superdad quickly leaves his chair of power and rushes upstairs. It is my very secret fear that something will happen to my daughter and my wife. Are scream is the usual indication that this might be happening. However, those two are very screamy and love to see me scramble up the stairs during a playoff game. 99% of the time it is crap.

My cat left a dead bird in the bed once. My wife picked it up thinking that it was a stuffed toy. Yup, she screamed her head off. I got there with a golf club in my hand, ready to deliver protection to any foes foolish enough to invade my sanctum. When I saw it was a dead bird that could not hurt anyone my wife and I had to have a talk about control our reactions and thus saving superdad from a heart attack.

So with this new scream the worst came to my mind. My daughter was having a bath time which is filled with potential danger.

I raced into the hallway, my imaginary cape flapping wildly in the make believe wind. I saw my wife clinging to Little Hoss, fear in my wife’s eyes. My daughter on the other hand, had a shit eating grin on. I was intrigued.

“Go look in the bathtub!” my wife ordered.

I grabbed my machete from the closet. I don’t believe in guns, but knives are cool.

I stepped into the bathroom not knowing what to expect. Had a snake slithered up the toilet like that old urban legend? Was there a tarantula that had gotten in and had slowly wrapped up the cats in a silk web of death? Where was my dog, my trusty sidekick?

My sidekick is a coward. He is afraid of baths so won’t come in with me.

Everything is quite, I see nothing moving. I am on heightened alert, defcon 5, maximum perimeter defense.

There is no sound but the slow drip of the tub faucet. I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror, stopping to admire the chiseled chin. Closer to the tub I get, the anxiety raises. I peer in. What demon is there? What danger lurks yonder.

A turd. There is a turd floating in the bathtub. There is a turd floating next to another turd in my bathtub.

Using my extensive investigative skills I quickly deduced what produced the deuce. My daughter, in her bathtime playtime, decided to go lay a number 2 in the tub.

According to my wife, my child smiled and stood up. She then squatted like she was about to splash, then grunted. My wife then saw the complete little baby poop float past her leg. The rest is a blur, just a scream and a laugh by my daughter.

So this is why I am here. I have no idea why this has become my job. But on occasion, superdad doesn’t get to save anyone, he gets the grunt work.

I have no idea how to remove 2 pieces of baby poo from water. I have never done this before, have never wanted to do this before, and have never even thought about the problem before.

I take stock of the tools that I have next to me. Not good. I grab the plunger thinking that I can balance the poop on top of it and do a quick fling to the toilet. I quickly discover that this isn’t happening. It’s slimy.

Plan B: I could drain the tub. Of course, that means that I have to stick my hand in it. Ok, that’s a last resort kind of option. Not to keen on that one.

Plan C: Toilet paper. Ok, this is going to work. I use roughly 2 rolls of toilet paper to make a toilet paper mitten. Completely impervious to any actual contact.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and make the grab. It’s not easy. Things start to fall off. The toilet paper soaks up a lot of water. It’s like trying to grab an eggshell out of scrambled eggs.
Finally, victory is mine. The whole mess goes in the toilet. I grab the plunger as I flush waiting for the eventual clogging. But it does not come, superdad catches a break. I take the plunger and eventually trip the stopper to the tub and all the water goes out. I will need to call the maid to see if she could come early.

I walk into my daughters room where by now my wife and child are laughing. It appears that they could hear my cussing as I was doing this chore. Superman never cussed but he never had to fish poop out of a tub like it was a mackerel. They see the sweat on my forehead and can’t help but laugh more.

I am disappointed that my weapon of choice for the day was a plunger and not my machete.

But once again, superdad saves the day.