Tweet Last night, as with the previous 1,040 weekday evenings, I arrived home well after everyone else did with only a six minute allowance to urinate, grab something to eat and re-establish an effective antiperspirant barrier to both pits before heading out to drop Dotter off at swim practice and arrive safely at theatre practice.
[Side note: this year's holiday show is dinner theatre at the beautiful Lake Lawn Resort and includes a riveting solo by me. The girl who doesn't sing. Except for that one time when I played an angry - and very intoxicated - Mrs. Hannigan during a review. Here's a hint: my solo involves bowling terminology and a hippopotamus. I'll be signing autographs and taking pictures after the show.]
Anyway, such is my reality that I walk, no, race into the house in the hopes of emptying my bladder sooner rather than later, only to be bombarded with noise. Lots and lots of noise. If you know the adult me you'd know that one of my most common sayings is quit making noise for the sake of making noise! I like quiet. Peaceful. Calm.
Of course, those of you who knew me in my youth are snickering and saying something along the lines of I remember your mother complaining that just listening to you talk made her tired. To you I say, that was then, this is now, and yes, I am completely aware that Karma hates me.
Big V was attempting to change Cletus's diaper. Cletus, a rambunctious 2-year old who figured out about 18 months ago that he doesn't have to listen to Dad, is screaming at the top of his lungs No Addy! while systematically batting Big V's hands away. The Teen Bean is tired of listening to the screaming and the pleading and the fighting and the begging that she has turned the television up to decibels that would allow Helen Keller a chance to enjoy truTV present World's Dumbest Partiers. Added to the mix is an anxious and worried Dotter, afraid she'll be late, who keeps yelling out the time rapid-fire-burst style like she's suddenly developed tourette's.
Of course I go over to the changing table. ... like Russian roulette; it's only a matter of time before my head explodes....
Cletus! Cletus! You have to get your butt changed. Do you want to play with the Nintendo?
Dotter wails: NO! THAT'S MY NINTENDO DS! I DON'T WANT HIM TOUCHING IT!
"Don't bribe him. Just tell him he needs to lay there."
Here. Here's my phone. See if you can get it to play music!
NO ADDY!! NO ADDY!!
"The last time he had your phone we were charged $49 in apps."
Dotter wails: WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!!
I run to the bathroom to pee, come out and lo and behold! There's Cletus laying nicely on the changing table, munching on some fruit snacks while Dad changes his diaper.
"You rewarded his temper tantrum with fruit snacks?"
It's the only way I could get him to stay still.
Feeling the pressure building in my brain I decide to exit the situation and run away. Far, far away. Which would have been a great plan had Dotter not forgotten her swim goggles. That meant I had to turn around and go back.
Thinking I was keeping one step ahead of the game I called Big V and asked if he could see the swim goggles on the kitchen counter.
Yeah, they're right here. But Cletus is playing with them.
"I'm almost in the drive. Can you run them out to me?"
Well, he's going to cry if I take them away.
"That's fine. Dotter needs them for practice."
And that's when I pulled into the driveway and waited.
I'm not stupid. Of course I know what he's doing. He wants me to go in there and be the bad guy.
Not doing it.
Oh, for the love of -----
But just when I had given up hope the door opened, and there appeared in the glow of the light, a man.
A man holding a toddler...
a toddler that was holding a pair of swim goggles.
And slowly the man holding the toddler who was holding the swim goggles walked towards my car. Where, without saying a word, I unrolled my window, snatched those goggles out of the toddler's pudgy hands and left the wailing child in his father's arms while I drove away.
You all remember The Satanic Dog, right? And how well Big V exhibited the signs of being the Alpha Male? I'm calling it right now: we are in so much trouble.