Kids are a real pain. I often wonder why I have kids and what the benefits are to having them. It's not for the joy of it, that's for sure.
I have three boys. The two who live with me are so wonderful.
Starting when they are infants, they become a crying, crapping, uncommunicative pain.
And then it gets no better. They begin to talk, and they invariably find that the word "NO!" wields a lot of power. It can make Daddy go nuts when you say it when Daddy tells you to do something, or when you say "NO!" after Daddy puts a meal in front of you that you swore was your favorite meal of all, or when Daddy tells you that its' time for bed or for a bath.
Thats one of my favorite things, when its bath or bed time. I mean, and I say this constantly, do you want to be the dirty kid in school? You do see the mud on your knees that looks like it's been tattooed on there, right? And then when they get into the bath, they don't want to get out of the bath. Their skin will turn into raisin skin and they still won't want to get out. And soon, a Hot Wheels car will be stuck in the drain, and the kid will start crying because he knows that A) Daddy told him no cars in the bath, so Daddy will be pissed and B) If he would have gotten out of the bath when Daddy told him to, the car would not be stuck in the drain. Uh oh, here comes Daddy!
And the bed thing! I cannot wait to go to bed at night. My kids act like they are being burned at the stake when I tell them to go to bed. I hate bed time. I hate telling them 47 times to go to bed before they start to comply. And then they say, I'm hungry! and you start to feel bad because maybe they really are hungry and you want them to grow, and should you deny them? And then they know how to get to me, they tell me that they just want to eat some protein and you just know that they are playing you like a fool, but you always fall for it, anyway. You set out some food and then they eat it grinning at me like the cat who just ate the canary.
My twelve year old raises all kinds of hell when it's time to go to bed. Then he waits until I go to bed and then I hear him trying to be quiet as he sneaks around the house looking for his phone. I now keep the phone next to me, but he still tiptoes down the hallway, searching.
Sometimes, I get up out of bed real quietly and I burst in his room to try to catch him either looking at his phone or watching television. I swing that door open and he either tries to turn off the TV real fast (and he is quick) or he hides the phone and pretends that he's asleep.
"Whhhhaaaat is it?" he mumbles , acting like he's freaking been hibernating for weeks. "Lemme have the phone," I say. "I don't have it," he answers. I know he's lying, so I rip off his covers and it looks like there is a graveyard of phones and remote controls and even his computer from school. He couldn't possibly fit anything else under there if he tried. I don't even yell anymore, because it's happened so much. I just put out my hand and he gives me everything, slowly, like it's killing him.
And the seven year old has to be covered in bed just right, just like his mother does. Well, when his mother isn't around, I screw it all up. I don't remember that the bottom sheet goes to his waist, the big blanket goes mid chest level, and then some furry fleece thing covers his big old head. So shoot me, who can keep up with all of that? I finally get it right after like ten tries and then he can finally go to sleep.
And another thing that the seven year old does is kick me out of bed every night. He gets out of his bed every night and comes in like clockwork at around one o'clock and comes over to where I am sleeping. He actually taps me on the shoulder, indicating that it's time for the old man to get out of bed and move to the couch so that he can have my place. I comply, reluctantly. I have tried to tough it out and have all of us sleep in the same bed, but he has dreams where he's beating up his brother and he begins kicking and flailing his arms while still sleeping. After being kicked numerous times in the testicles, I have decided that the couch isn't a bad option after all.
There is more about the boys, especially the joy of car rides, but that's enough for now. I can hear the two demons screaming at each other upstairs. Pretty soon the seven year old will cry and start swinging. The twelve year old will be laughing and teasing him. It is inevitable that it all will happen. I'm used to it and on the way up the basement steps, I start asking myself if I am being punished for something. Or is it a big joke that is being played on me?
This kid thing! So much fun. I lie in bed (actually the couch) every morning and wonder what the day will bring with the two hellions.