Functionally ReTodded

I know it’s not Groundhog Day.  It’s Ash Wednesday. But my life feels like Groundhog Day nearly every day.

(Know that this grumpalong is written while not looking at the wife I have that deals with this for fourteen hours a day as opposed to my two hours a day).

6:08am:  Alarm goes off.  I may or may not snooze, and I may or may not require the alarm.  My Kramer clock is pretty accurate.

6:10am:  Shower, shave (if it’s Monday or Thursday) and get dressed.

6:20am:  Attempt to wake up the bear (aka GBD) because Thing 3 is awake.

6:21am:  Head downstairs with Thing 3 (and sometimes Thing 2).

6:22am:  Change diaper of screaming, crying child strong enough to prevent you from doing so without the help of a partner.

6:25am:  Take Thing 3 to the kitchen to pour some milk in a bottle and let him open and close the microwave and hit start.

6:26am:  GBD or I give the lad said bottle.

6:45am:  Other children awake or awakened.

Fill the next fifteen minutes with "I know you’re hungry Fia, I’m working on it.  Lauren, get dressed and brush your hair.  Patrick, stop (insert whatever he’s doing that he shouldn’t be here).  I know you’re hungry Fia, I’m working on it.  Lauren, get dressed and brush your hair.  Patrick, stop (insert whatever he’s doing that he shouldn’t be here).  I know you’re hungry Fia, I’m working on it.  Lauren, get dressed and brush your hair.  Patrick, stop (insert whatever he’s doing that he shouldn’t be here)."  And one of us makes coffees.

7:00am:  I head downstairs to get my iPod, Blackberry, check my e-mail.

7:10am:  Confirm that Thing 1 is dressed and fed, Thing 2 is fed and Thing 3 is not doing what he should be, which is every and anything he is doing.

7:15am:  Checklist with the kids (two of them anyway, since one can’t or won’t talk) -

• computer?  Check
• phone?  Check
• book?  Check
• iPod?  Check
• wallet?  Check
• coffee?  Check
• keys?  Check

And off to work.

Inevitably, sometime during the day, I get a message like this from the wife.  Here I will attempt to recreate one I received yesterday.

"Patrick just dumped out all of the diapers, emptied the entire bag of wipes, dumped out the toy bins in the playroom, poured a bag of cheddar Chex mix all over the foyer,then emptied the dishwasher including putting all the dirty silverware back in the drawer, and now he’s eating a magic marker.  GAH!!"

5:45pm:  Come home to said mess.  Start cleaning with GBD.

Fill this time with "Girls! Stop fighting!  It’s a used paper towel roll!  So honey, hold a sec.  Patrick!  Get off the desk!  Patrick! get off the kitchen table!  Patrick!  Stop eating mommy’s wireless mouse!  I was saying, how was your day?  Hold on.  Girls! knock it off!  Patrick!  Stop climbing on the desk!  Fia! I will not hold you!  Lauren, no you can NOT go to (insert any child in the neighborhood’s name)’s house.  Mine was fine.  I had a…one sec babe.  Patrick!  Bring daddy the remote!  Fia! Put your clothes back on!  Lauren!  Yes you have to wear underwear tomorrow.  Patrick!  Get out of the menu drawer!  Girls! Stop fighting! That’s Patrick’s toy anyway.  Nevermind babe.  We’ll talk later."

6:00pm:  Have the "What do you guys want for dinner?" discussion, and the answers are always Dora spaghetti O’s, hot dogs, pancakes, spaghetti or Easy Mac.

Since Thing 3 is contained in his seat for a while, we fill this time with rapid cleaning and dishwasher filling and / or emptying.

6:15pm:  More me plus GBD cleaning (only to have it undone within 15 minutes by Thing 3).

6:30pm:  bottle and pajamas for  the boy.

6:45pm:  Boy up to bed, and then we begin the "Girls, it’s time to get ready for bed.  Let’s get on our jammies and brush our teeth.  Ladies.  Beddy bye time.  Jammie up peeps.  I’m not saying it again kids.  Put.  On. Your.  PJs.  Lauren!  Fia!  Put on your pajamas!  NOW!!"

7:00pm:  Sigh deeply and then we both proceed to put pajamas on the girls.

7:15pm:  Alright girls…bedtime.

Fill the next fifteen minutes with "Awwww.   Daddeeeeeeeeee!  I’m watching this!  Just five more minutes!  Please!!  But I’m thirsty.  I’m hungry.  I don’t feel good.  I’m not tired.  Please can I just play five more minutes please please please please."

7:30pm:  Trudge up the stairs and then one of us reads a story to both girls and puts them to bed.

7:45pm:  More cleaning, then "So babe, whaddya want for dinner?"

7:46pm:  I dunno.  I’m gonna start with a scotch & water with a side of Lortab.

And yes.  This is every god damned day.

Love you babe.  Don’t know how you do it.  And yes, I’ll pick up some diapers, wipes and the zoloft.

I haven’t felt too inspired today, so I struggled to find a topic.

But then, like a kick in the nads, a topic found me:

Children’s television.

While snuggling up with Thing 3, someone (cough cough GBD cough cough) turned on "Max and Ruby." Were it not for the namesake in my lap, I may have gouged out my own eyes.

I hate this show with the fire of ten episodes of the Teletubbies. It’s a cartoon rabbit and her younger brother, and the entire show is based on him being a little boy and her being a nagging god damned bitch. She and her naggy asshole friends bitch anytime he does anything. I hate it.

Then there’s (no attempt to spell this correctly) Ni Hao Kai Lan.

Basically, it’s Dora in Japanese. Or Chinese. I’m not sure. Her grandfather is Mr. Miagi, her friends are all stupid animals and she sings 71 different songs, but to the exact same score. WHO DOES THAT?

Then there’s Dora. I hate her and her god damned monkey and her shouting and her stupid ass giant head. I heard this week that Dora is about to be a "tween." I don’t know what that means, but I hope it means she is trapped and killed beTWEEN two colliding passenger trains.

Next up, Yo Gabba Gabba. Some black gay hippie in tights lords over some stupid Diorama where retarded creatures sing songs about not hitting your friends, sharing, and other hippy shit. It may cause me to start cutting…

Then there’s Little Bear. He teaches the kids nothing. Every other bear wears people clothes but him, he’s retarded and does stupid things, and he’s friends with a girl that has a doll. That’s it. There’s a spastic duck, a snake that takes Quaaludes, a chicken that’s manic depressive, and other animals. Again, they teach my kids shit. If my kids were smoking pot, it’d be the greatest show in the world.

But they’re not. They want to, but I keep doing the egg in a frying pan "this is your brain on drugs" demonstration, and then they just want some God damn eggs.

Have a great Saturday everybody. Hope you all get lucky.
FRT

p.s. I should have titled this post "Lazy hack mailing it in," but I didn’t think you’d read far enough to get the snake on ludes, so I didn’t).

This morning, during our usual "Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed Lauren get dressed" song and dance, the wife had an epiphany-like event.

She said "Can you check the back page of Lauren’s math homework?"

I looked at her without blinking for a few seconds.  Shook my head.

"Really babe?  You’re tapping out on helping the kids with their homework in month six of THE FIRST GRADE?  REALLY?"

She simply burst out laughing and said "Yep.  I’m out.  You take it the rest of the way."

Is there anyone will to pitch the show "Are you dumber than a first grader?"

Today I had the day off.  That is to say that I had the day off from work.  I did NOT have the day off from the family.  I am going to give you a little insight into just what the first hour or so of my day is like every day.

Patrick! No standing on the couch.  Bottom down.

Fia!  No jumping on the couch.  Bottom down!

Lauren, get dressed!

Patrick! Bottom down!

Patrick NO!  Don’t touch my iPod. (Pick up iPod and take it to the middle of the kitchen table and gets a cup of coffee).

Patrick!  Don’t touch my blackberry.  (Sets down coffee, takes blackberry and case from boy, now crying, and place them in the middle of the kitchen table).

Patrick!! Don’t touch my coffee.  GAH!  (runs for paper towels to clean up coffee, walk to kitchen to throw away paper towels).

Patrick!! Don’t pull the spacebar off of / turn the power off on / stand on my laptop (runs from kitchen to close laptop lid, but set coffee down to do it).

Patrick! No standing on the couch.  Bottom down.

Fia!  No jumping on the couch.  Bottom down!

Lauren, get dressed!

Patrick! Bottom down!

Then it’s breakfast for three which could be pancakes, cereal, pop tarts (or their generic equivalent), cinnamon toast, and on the weekends that expands to the possibility of homemade pancakes, french toast, fried eggs and bacon with toasted bagels, etc.

Inevitably no one can agree, so I make different stuff, but no one wants or eats what I make.  Then 20 minutes later, they’re all hungry.

Except Patrick.  He eats.  He LOVES anything with syrup, because he can rub it in his hair, on his face, all over his clothes, in his ears, nose, eyes and more.

Lauren, get dressed.

Seriously.  Get dressed.

Fia, put your clothes on.  You are not running around naked all day.

Patrick!  Give me the remote.

Lauren! Get dressed!  It’s been fifteen minutes and all you have on is a shirt.

FIA!  GET DRESSED!

Patrick! No standing on the couch.  Bottom down.

Fia!  No jumping on the couch.  Bottom down!

Lauren, get dressed!

Patrick! Bottom down!

Lauren, it’s been 25 minutes and you have a shirt on and pants.  GET DRESSED!!

Fia!  Put your clothes back on!

Patrick! No standing on the couch.  Bottom down.

Fia!  No jumping on the couch.  Bottom down!

Lauren, get dressed!

Patrick! Bottom down!

I gotta go.  Love you, honey.  Call me later.

(repeat a few more times if, due to the lunacy, you drive all the way to work without your god damned backpack, which contains your work keys, security fob and your laptop).

Because I’m an awesome guy and a great parent, people with less kids than me often ask me the difference between having no kids, one, two and three kids.  Oddly enough, yesterday provided a perfect example of the difference.

A little history first.  1doh, who is now six and a half (the half is VERY important to her now), started wanting to learn to ride a bike.  We got a good second-hand bike from my BIL and nephew, and I spent a Saturday afternoon about a month or so ago huffing and puffing and running behind the bike, holding the seat, having her panic, brake, fall, etc.  Over.  And.  Over.  Not fun.

Then, she jumped on a neighbor’s razor scooter and liked it.  She has a scooter (that she got forever ago) that is one of those two wheels in front, one in the back things.  Not the scooter she needed.

So about two or three weeks ago, I headed to Wally World and picked up a $38 razor scooter for her, and she was off.  Scootering everywhere, all the time.  She got good really fast.

I looked at her after about a week and said "Baby, this is gonna make you learning to ride a bike really easy since you understand balance now."

Fast forward to last night.  I’m walking across the parking lot at Kroger on the way home, and my phone rings.  It’s the wife.

Her:  (excited) "Hold on, okay.  LAUREN!! COME TELL DADDY!!"

Lauren:  "Daddy!! I rode my bike!  I told mommy I wanted to practice and I got on and I rode from our driveway all the way to Mr. Skip’s yard and back and did it again and again and again."

Lauren (to my wife):  Mommy, can I be done telling daddy now?  I wanna ride my bike."  Then some squealing.

My wife gets back on the phone and says "I’m outside with all these kids and she wanted to ride, and I told her to wait for you, and she said she wanted to practice on her own in the yard.  Then she got on and just rode.  Not one fall.  Nothing.  She just rode the bike."

So that’s pretty awesome right?  A great day for  sure.

We’ll see.

We finished dinner and sang the "Hooray for (insert person’s name here)" song that we sing whenever anyone does anything good. (I’ll throw the lyrics up later and maybe a video of fia singing it).

That was when the wife went over to clean up PK and wipe his face and hands.

Then I hear "Hey.  What is this?  Are these teethmarks?  Are these bite marks on his arm?  On both arms?!?"

Switch to Fia and she’s covering her eyes.

Me:  "Fia.  Did you bite Patrick?"

Fia:  (covers eyes).

Me: (pulling her hands from her eyes) "DID.  YOU.  BITE.  PATRICK?!?!?!?

Fia: (nodding)

Wife:  "Do you want me to bite YOU Fia?  Do you?"  (picking up Fia’s arm and mock biting).

Fia:  "NO MOMMY! Noooooo!"

So really, that’s multiple kids in a nutshell.  The victories are fleeting as there’s always another arm to bite or something to break just around the corner.  So you better enjoy the first bike rides while you can.

(Just to clarify, we didn’t really have to guess or get the cast of CSI-Mayberry to come have a look.  Fia has perfect teeth and the bite marks were full impressions with all teeth but the molars.  He had one on his left forearm and one on his right hand.  Have I mentioned how lucky my kids are that I don’t believe in spanking?)