Skip to main content

They Don't Teach This

November 17th, 2016

Dear Todd,

Yesterday was one of those days when our native languages failed us and the result was me wishing all my fingers could turn into the middle one and I could angrily wave Jazz hands at you, and you clearly wishing you could ball me up into a reasonably tight package and drop kick me through the roof.

Let this be a message to those who are dating...seize the opportunity to go back to your own place while you can. Or if you've decided to go for the "long haul," practice being stuck in each other's space knowing that even if you leave, you have to come back. Unless you wanted to get a hotel---but then you are just spending more of "both" of your money which is destined to cause another battle down the road, when clearly you could've just come home--after all Timmy needs braces and plays for a traveling baseball team. Unless, of course, you are being beaten/abused. Then get the hotel. Preferably in a different state.  And use cash.

Anyway...I digress...my point is, in the words of Martha and the Vandellas, once you're married you've got "Nowhere to run to, Baby...Nowhere to hide."  And inevitably there will be days when you want to. And they should teach a class on it. Maybe called, "How to re-enter the room when you want to set your spouse on fire with your eyes." It should be part of a 12 step program you have to pass before you can get your marriage license.  And then another one called, "I'm a better actor than you are" in order to get approved to have children. Because while you are in the throws of pyrotechnic fantasies, you have to be totally normal to your children.

The good news is, these days are far and few between, and probably a result of stirring up any sediment that might be forming from the monotony of keeping our children alive in a secret covert operation I call, "Good Morning, You Do This, I Do That, Good Night." Or "I Know I Had A Brain Once, Don't You Dare Tell Me I Didn't."

Or perhaps we just need a series of "safe words." When everything is getting heated, we just call out "Pineapple" or "Kiwi" and start a grocery list of produce and walk away. I dunno. (Kids, if you read this one day, fighting is needed. But no fun. Glad that one is over.)

I'm now going to tip-toe into our daughter's room--who has lost all her teeth already--and answer the note for Ruby the Tooth Fairy---because, even without teeth, they still talk. Yes. I did this all to myself. By myself. Ssshhh...Don't make me do Jazz hands at you...


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Our naked boy is a GMO

October 24th, 2016 Dear Todd, I'm not really sure where to start.  The headline on this one sort of sums up my Monday.  And as I make dinner right now, we still have a half-dressed 9 yr old who opts to "thrust" from time to time because his pants are off which, and I quote, "Makes me feel like a man." I'm in over my head. Out over my ski's. And any other bad metaphor for "screwed without a solution." It's that time in a working person's day when you "clock out." You shut down the computer, you decide to face the world again in the morning with a warm cup of coffee.  But he's still walking around. Half dressed. Now weilding a knife, cuz he's making his lunch. But, for your reference let's get back to the removal of the pants. All of our kids had fabulous plans with friends after school today.  Upon picking up our eldest and dropping off our youngest's friend (all possible at one house as they are broth...

This Bud's for you

December 14th, 2016 Dear Todd, We went to see the Budweiser Clydesdales yesterday.  It was cool. They are seriously large horses--like Tyranahorses. Pretty sure that's what they're called. Pretty sure. And if I call them that enough, it will stick and they will be known as the Budweiser Tyranahorse, because we are living in a world where we can say whatever the f**k we want and not only will there be no consequence, but the word will be added to Webster's top Fab Five Fictious Phenomenons. But I digress... So we saw the horses. And as we were making our way back past them for the second time--aka "our farewell tour"--practicing our parade waves---one of our children shrieked and proceeded to shame Eric, the Clydesdale.  It would appear that Eric was giving me yet another teaching moment wherein I could explain the origin and meaning of the expression, "Hung like a horse." And so, I'd like to say, "Thank you, Eric. I really don't...

Story Problems

October 4th, 2016 Dear Todd, As the household proclaimed "linear thinker," I have a math problem for you. Or the world's longest run-on sentence... If a woman is awoken at 5:15am by a nightmare of a toxic/sewage smelling snake sliding up the side of her body rapidly encroaching on her breathing, and slowly opens her eyes to look around so as not to startle the snake, only to find that the snake is a pair of size 4 male feet and the toxcitiy is coming from the 70lb farting dog in the bed and thus she slides out discreetly thumping onto the floor and army crawling downstairs as to not disturb anyone else in an attempt to have a cup of coffee by herself only to be followed by the farting dog that proceeds to vomit a 32inch diameter puddle on the living room rug, waking the size 4 feet that rapidly descend to request a peach for breakfast. The sound of the youngest running down the stairs wakes the oldest (who has never woken up on his own before 7am unless it was a Sun...