Usually on Mondays it's me, Trot, a pile full of laundry and more fun that a barrel of monkeys. With today being a holiday, the whole crew including Ange was at home. You'd think this would be a good thing, but when it comes to my kids the norm goes flying out the window.
I've come with a mathematical equation that proves the more kids together at one time = an inordinate amount of chaos. The fact this equation was achieved under extreme duress and involves Gordon Ramsey, a bag full of skittles, and 4 visits to a "professional therapist" is inconsequential. The fact is? It's true.
Up until about 1:30 today however, I had high hopes that today, unlike every other day when they are all together, was going to be one of those "miracle" days. No fights, no arguments, and no instances of me retreating to a dark room and crying in the fetal position. Ange was working out, I was doing extensive research into the field of criminology by watching "Cold Case" reruns and the kids were all outside jumping on the trampoline and playing on the swing set. Throw in a pipe and a cardigan sweater and I could have passed for Ward Cleaver on a relaxing Monday afternoon.
Until I heard the 5 words that I'm pretty sure will stick with me for the rest of my life.
"Dad. Trot peed on Rakes."
Mind you, I've personally witnessed this child pee in a vase, off the back porch, in the garage, and in the tub, all supplemented by the occasional use of an actual toilet. Never, and I mean NEVER did I ever expect to hear he went on his brother; call me naive or stupid or whatever, but it honestly never crossed my mind.
Trot sees the world in a totally different way than me, you, and most 4 legged animals apparently and while Rakes and Ciera were on the swings decided that taking a whizz on his brother 6 feet below was just what the doctor ordered.
I wish I could tell you I handled things in a calm manner. I wish I could say I was the definition of composure. I also wish I could hit the power ball, ask Sela Ward "How YOU doin'?" and bat clean up for the Red Sox, all of which would be a lie.
Remember how mad Yosemite Sam would get when Bugs Bunny would make him look silly?
That was me, only on steroids, HGH, and crank.
It was all I could do to get him to his mother without killing him while I got Rakes cleaned up, calmed down, and dried out.
One day, in a galaxy far, far away I may laugh about this. Right now? I'm googling "Therapists who work cheap" and dreaming of Spring Training.
Also, I'm planning a multi-million dollar law suite against Dr. Spock.
'Cause I KNOW he never covered this in any of his stupid books.
Thoughts While Trying to Ignore the Blow Out
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