Due to the fact the Red Sox lost Game 7 Sunday night, combined with the fact Trot and I both woke up with what I can only describe as Dengue Fever at 5 o'clock Monday morning, I haven't had it in me to write about the events at Casa De Ted that occurred on Sunday afternoon until now.
Let me preface this post with this; I have NEVER, and I mean NEVER been as angry with one of my children as I was with Rakes 2 days ago. While Ang, Trot, and Ciera were taking a nap and Rakes was SUPPOSEDLY watching a movie in the toy room, I was on the computer messing around for a few hours.
It wasn't until Angie woke up, walked into the foyer, and uttered the words "WHAT IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU DONE?" that I got any sort of inkling things had gone awry. Turns out Rakes had turned our foyer walls into some sort of caveman graffiti experiment, complete with drawings of boats, baseballs, and houses in a variety mix of colors. He even traced the light plates for good measure while turning our entire entry way into one huge coloring project.
After cleaning what we could off the wall, priming and painting the various crime scenes, Angie discovered an even greater act of vandalism; our chair, from Clayton Marcus that we paid $400 dollars for back when we had no kids and a ton of disposable income had a 15 inch tear running all the way down it's side courtesy of a rusty stake knife and Rakes' lack of a conscious.
It's at this point in the story that I must admit I now understand how parents can go over the line when it comes to disciplining their kids. It's only God, a small miracle, and me seeing the world through a rage tinted haze that kept me from taking him out to the middle of nowhere and dropping him off for the next poor family that happened by.
He, along with me, Ang, and the rest of the free world have no explanation on why he did what he did; after 3 hours of talking I frankly just gave up. All I know is he's not yet 5, I'm closing in on 39 years old, and I have no idea what I'm freaking doing.
I guess I just play it by ear the next few years and hope against hope he doesn't end up in juvie. How do you respond when you try to have a heart to heart talk with a 5 year old and he just looks at you like you have 2 heads?
It's a little bit scary and a whole bag full of sober to think about the fact your first born son could be facing a criminal record in the next 5 years. I think I'll just pray he outgrows it and somehow becomes a missionary to Africa when it's all said and done.
Outside of that?
I got nothing.
Do you see now why I cling to the hopes of a baseball team for 6 months?
Can somebody tell me why valium is only available by prescription?