Pillow Talk
Forgive me in advance for a lame post but I am exhausted to the point of hallucination. I could have sworn that, at some point during my 70 mile drive home, that I saw one of those Mexican goat sucker things on the side of the expressway playing a game of hopscotch with Rush Limbaugh.
Tragically, it was not an epic bout of binge-drinking nor a full eight hours of wild monkey lovin’ that kept me up all night. It was the ear infections of two of my kids. It seemed like as soon as we got one settled down and back asleep, the other would wake up in tears. By two in the morning my four-year-old was in our bed, pressing his feet against my side and flexing his toes, tickling the living hell out of me. Unfortunately, this even happens rather routinely even when he is not sick, hence the reason I call him “Midnight Mason and his Big Toe of Doom” after 9pm. We also end up having quality conversations in the middle the night that go something like:
Mason (at a volume that could drive a wooly mammoth to the brink of incontinence): “Dad! My ear hurts!”
Me: “Mkjumph ingu phunk duuuuuuuuu………What?”
Mason (even louder): “My ear hurts!”
Me (louder than Mason): “I’M SURE YELLING AT ME AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS WILL MAKE IT FEEL MUCH BETTER!”
Mason: Starts to whimper.
Wife: “What’s the matter with you! You’re going to wake up the baby!”
Me: “Well he started it!”
Wife: “I don’t care! Act like an adult! Act like a father!”
Me: “Fine. Mason! Go to your room!”
Wife: “You’re an ass.”
Mason: “Yeah Dad, you’re an ass!”
At this point I’m savoring the moment since my wife often chastises me for adding more color to the children’s vocabulary. I rolled out of bed, turned to my wife and said. “Great. That’s some really classy language to be teaching the kids.”
Wife (fuming and ignoring me because she knows I’m right): “Come up here Mason and rest with us until your ear feels better.”
Mason: Crawls into bed with a wide smile directed right at me which is his equivalent of flipping me “the bird”.
Me (not willing to let this swearing thing go yet): “Mason, that’s a bad word. That’s one of those ones that you’re not allowed to say.”
Mason: “Like ‘Bucket’?”
Wife: “Bucket? Bucket’s not a bad word.”
Mason: “Dad said it was.”
Me (wracking my memory): “When did I say that?”
Mason: “In the car. You said it and then told me not to say it.”
I then remembered being in the car with Mason. We were going to pick up dinner and I got distracted by a phone call from work. After hanging up, he was being so quiet in back that I just momentarily forgot that he was there. Then the moron in front of me slammed on her breaks for absolutely no reason that I could discern. There were no streets, lights, signs, cops or any other cars on the road other than me. The only thing I could think of was that maybe she saw the goat sucker thing too. Marveling at her stupidity and angered by the fact that the bimbo forced me to lock up my breaks as well, I let out an impromptu expletive before remembering that my son was in the backseat.
Me: “Oh. I didn’t say ‘Bucket’. I said fu……”
I was interrupted by my wife instantly shooting upright in bed with her eyes opened so wide that they had reached inhuman, squid-like proportions. I knew right there that if I stayed in that room, the next couple of hours would have been spent receiving a verbal bludgeoning and the only hope I had of getting back to sleep was to go somewhere else. I ripped my pillow off of my bed and just before trudging off downstairs to living room couch, I said, “Ahhhhh, Buck-et!”
Tragically, it was not an epic bout of binge-drinking nor a full eight hours of wild monkey lovin’ that kept me up all night. It was the ear infections of two of my kids. It seemed like as soon as we got one settled down and back asleep, the other would wake up in tears. By two in the morning my four-year-old was in our bed, pressing his feet against my side and flexing his toes, tickling the living hell out of me. Unfortunately, this even happens rather routinely even when he is not sick, hence the reason I call him “Midnight Mason and his Big Toe of Doom” after 9pm. We also end up having quality conversations in the middle the night that go something like:
Mason (at a volume that could drive a wooly mammoth to the brink of incontinence): “Dad! My ear hurts!”
Me: “Mkjumph ingu phunk duuuuuuuuu………What?”
Mason (even louder): “My ear hurts!”
Me (louder than Mason): “I’M SURE YELLING AT ME AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS WILL MAKE IT FEEL MUCH BETTER!”
Mason: Starts to whimper.
Wife: “What’s the matter with you! You’re going to wake up the baby!”
Me: “Well he started it!”
Wife: “I don’t care! Act like an adult! Act like a father!”
Me: “Fine. Mason! Go to your room!”
Wife: “You’re an ass.”
Mason: “Yeah Dad, you’re an ass!”
At this point I’m savoring the moment since my wife often chastises me for adding more color to the children’s vocabulary. I rolled out of bed, turned to my wife and said. “Great. That’s some really classy language to be teaching the kids.”
Wife (fuming and ignoring me because she knows I’m right): “Come up here Mason and rest with us until your ear feels better.”
Mason: Crawls into bed with a wide smile directed right at me which is his equivalent of flipping me “the bird”.
Me (not willing to let this swearing thing go yet): “Mason, that’s a bad word. That’s one of those ones that you’re not allowed to say.”
Mason: “Like ‘Bucket’?”
Wife: “Bucket? Bucket’s not a bad word.”
Mason: “Dad said it was.”
Me (wracking my memory): “When did I say that?”
Mason: “In the car. You said it and then told me not to say it.”
I then remembered being in the car with Mason. We were going to pick up dinner and I got distracted by a phone call from work. After hanging up, he was being so quiet in back that I just momentarily forgot that he was there. Then the moron in front of me slammed on her breaks for absolutely no reason that I could discern. There were no streets, lights, signs, cops or any other cars on the road other than me. The only thing I could think of was that maybe she saw the goat sucker thing too. Marveling at her stupidity and angered by the fact that the bimbo forced me to lock up my breaks as well, I let out an impromptu expletive before remembering that my son was in the backseat.
Me: “Oh. I didn’t say ‘Bucket’. I said fu……”
I was interrupted by my wife instantly shooting upright in bed with her eyes opened so wide that they had reached inhuman, squid-like proportions. I knew right there that if I stayed in that room, the next couple of hours would have been spent receiving a verbal bludgeoning and the only hope I had of getting back to sleep was to go somewhere else. I ripped my pillow off of my bed and just before trudging off downstairs to living room couch, I said, “Ahhhhh, Buck-et!”
posted by JEP at 6:51 PM
1 Comments:
So I don't have one of those fancy schmancy (spell check didn't like that one either) blogger ID's but I thought I'd say welcome back to the fold sir. My dear, forgetfull brother, Sacto Ritch told me you were once again blogging up tha joint when he called to wish me a belated b-day the other day so I had to check in. (sorry Ritch, had to give you shit) Anyway, I really can't see Pat giving you a hard time about using salty language. Doesn't she realize you were a sailor, a man of the high seas, a recipient of a shell back card, basically the man credited with forcing Popeye to squint his eye all the time. c'mon now! Those facts alone should give you ample excuse to swear like a...well like a sailor! Hell, I use the excuse of being the son of a teamster all the time when I use colorful language. I would tend to think that you would get a bit more sleep and be the owner of a sunny disposition if you didn't have to make a nice 140 mile commute every day. Be like me, work from home 2 days a week. By working from home, I mean, wake up 1 minute before you're expected to work, turn on the computer, take 1/2 hr to make coffee, take 5 minutes to read work email,spend another 2 hours making and enjoying breakfast, go back to work for a minute and actually send an email, realize how close to lunch it is, go take a shower, go play a round of golf, and come back just in time to log out for the day. Think McFly, think. As for the colorfull language, I have one word for you, Earmuffs. Do as our friend in Old School taught us and teach the children to cover their ears when earmuffs is said and you will have no problems. Granted, your poor little totts will probably grow up with grooves in their precious little heads due to the sheer number of times they will be forced to slam their hands up to their heads beause you felt the urge to was profane due to stubbing your toe, burning the toast, paying bills, listening to any politician speak, or simply realizing that yes, you to have to go back to work tomorrow.
Hope you are doing well my friend, keep in touch.
"Caretaker" Matt
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