Before I start this post I want to get across 2 points; I love my youngest son and treasure spending the entire day with him every week.
We go to the library or the park, I pack his lunchbox and we go eat with Ciera one week and Rakes the next. We go uptown and pay our water bill and every time he sweetly asks the little old lady behind the counter "Tan I have some tandy?" and she politely says "I'm sorry, sweetie. I don't have any". And he responds, EVERY TIME, with "Oh Maaaaan."
We laugh and play and in general have a great time.
He also will dump an entire box of crackers on the floor and repeatedly walk in it while I'm folding clothes, get into his sisters room and attempt to take apart her television while I'm washing dishes, and if it wasn't for the chain lock at the top of every exit door we have he'd be halfway down the block tormenting one of our neighbors Shitzu's before I could blink.
What I'm telling you is by the time Rakes and Ciera get home from school and I help them with their homework, get snacks, listen to Rakes tell me about how many times he slid down the slide at recess and Ciera tell me about every detail of her day from the time she got to school until walking in the front door I'm twitching like I've got Tourette's and wondering when in God's name is Ang getting home from work.
Throw in a Red Sox game starting at 4 p.m. and I'm ready for a Vicodin drip and a straight jacket. So against my better judgement I let Ciera take Huey and Louie outside to play on the swing set while I had one eye on the game and one eye on them. You can probably see where this is going.......
About the time Big Papi struck out for what seems like the 127th straight time (Jr and I are attempting to halt this early season slump in it's track with a FB league trade: I'm sending him Paul Konerko and he's sending me Ortiz. Never let it be said that Rich isn't a team player.) and I'm wondering how high your blood pressure can really get Ciera comes in the back door and utters "I can't find Trot".
As a parent there isn't anything more terrifying than not knowing where your child is. I make a point to avoid any news/television shows/books that involve children going missing; I just can't take it. However, Trot is sort of like Gizmo from "Gremlins" and I'm pretty sure he could castrate a stampeding bull on Dianabol but my heart still skipped a beat or two.
We found him 4 houses down under my neighbor's trampoline.
Have you ever tried verbally blasting a 4 year old doing cart wheels with his shorts on backwards and no underwear?
To top it all off? Tomorrow is an off day for the Sox.
If I lived in L.A. I'd have a sitcom by tomorrow afternoon.
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