I have heard from a lot of people that watching television with your kids is a great way to bond with them. Personally, I think that is nonsense, but I’ll use anything as an excuse to lounge around and watch the boob tube with the little man all day. I just wonder how that conversation will work with my wife. “I am not being lazy and worthless by watching t.v. all day honey. I am bonding with our son, and I happen to believe that that is important don’t you?”
Yeah, I am sure that will work out.
Then I’ll say something like, “It’s not like I am allowing the T.V. to raise him right?”
No, it just seems like it.
It is bad enough that I hardly do any house work anymore because the little dobber is so mobile and irresistible I don’t need the television as an excuse too. The majority of our time is spent playing until he eventually passes out from exhaustion. Then I quick type up a few sentences and try to get the motivation to pick up after ourselves and get things ready for later on when he wakes up again. Let’s face it. Most of the time it doesn’t matter if I pick up anyway because as soon as the boy wakes up all hell breaks loose again, which is fine by me.
I honestly don’t understand how other parents can keep their homes so clean and well kempt. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Sure, I could probably do it too, but I’d have to be willing to give up some play time with the little man to do so, and that is unacceptable to me. For now, I am perfectly happy rushing around trying to pick up and tidy the house while he is asleep during one of his naps. But, all the while I am thinking, “Who cares if my house is messier than yours? I don’t. Besides, you can’t see it from your living room anyway.”
Yes. I have an eternally running dialogue in my head with people that may or may not ever visit. After nine and a half years of living with my wife, she has me firmly convinced that there are going to be people stopping by, and if the house is a mess it will make us look bad or her rather. That’s the only real reason I pick up any of the toys or books that are scattered throughout it. It’s those golly darned theoretical visitors that may think poorly of us if they stop by! Shame on them for causing me such strife!
If it were up to me I would just say “Leave it be. Eventually when the little man is older it will be better, until then let’s not worry about it.”
Unfortunately, my wife seems to think differently. What a drag! I am just glad that her paranoia of these mystical creatures called visitors hasn’t totally infiltrated my mind because I am quite lazy and really prefer doing the bare minimum of maintenance and tidying. So what if that means the house is messy?
Truthfully, if I wasn’t so terrified of my teeny tiny wife I wouldn’t even do that. I only do the bare minimum to keep her from strangling me. Honestly, if I did any less she would probably find a way to end me that would be impossible to prove as murder. She’d probably make it look like I ran away, or she would find a way to convince the world that I had never existed. Yes, she has that power! You don’t understand the terror I live in every day never knowing if I am going to wake up dead in the morning.
As if that were not bad enough, now she has the little man in on it too. I swear if it isn’t my darling wife beating me up it’s the little man, and they both do it in such a way that the bruises aren’t visible. I am lucky to be a live I tell you! I made the mistake of falling asleep with him on the floor once and when I woke up all I could see was this multicolored Winnie the Pooh choo choo train rapidly approaching my face. I just barely escaped it with my beautiful face intact. I know my wife put him up to it. I just don’t know how.
Ok, in reality I don’t fear my wife, and I do not think that she is evil. However, I might be a little afraid of my son because he really did try to run over my head with his “Pooh Choo train” while I slept peacefully on the floor, but that would not be worst thing he has done to me out of evilness. I would think him screaming in my face to wake me up was worse so far. Fortunately, I am used it now. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare the crap out of me for an instant every time he does it though. It just means I am getting used to it and am surprised when I wake up without hearing a terrific shout of “Hey DA!!!”
I am sure that he’ll be up to worse things as he gets older, the little pisser. I can’t wait.
Sidenote: I am sure that once my wife catches wind of the “Pooh Choo” incident she’ll probably tell me it is my own fault for not keeping the living room tidier. Well, nuts to that! I would rather see him play with the metric ton of toys we have purchased for him than see them stacked neatly in a corner even if that means I am putting my life into mortal danger. It’s worth it to me because I get to hear his evil giggle before, during, and after he tries to harm me. Besides, he is just going to trash the place again anyway.