They're teaming up, I don't stand a chance!

Sometimes your kids make you cry. Sometimes they make you wonder. Sometimes they make you angrier than you thought you could get.

And then there is tonight.

The Leadup

To understand the end of this story, you have to be lead into the situation. It doesn’t make the story itself any less funny, but it definitely enhances the whole thing.

For the past couple of days, I’ve been on point for the kids. The wife is off in Vegas, apparently carousing late into the night and then wondering why she didn’t do the whole thing in her twenties. Yeah, like we did nothing entertaining.

Fortunately, I’m not alone in the sixty hours of daddy-duty. My own father has been released to come keep me sane and drive the car. After all, just because mommy’s out does not mean that the social calendar decreases.

Just what, you might ask, do we have going right now?
• Caelyn’s preschool
• My own schooling
• Maintain Jonah’s potty training
• Swim classes for both
• Ballet classes for Caelyn
• Selling a house

Honestly, it was that last one that frightened me the most. Have you ever tried to pull two young kids and two grown Labradors out of a house and keep them all entertained/corralled for an hour at a moment’s notice? You have? Great, try it while blind next time.

Anyway, it was a fun, but exhausting couple of days. When I wasn’t taking care of children needs, I was cleaning house. When I wasn’t cleaning house I was doing homework. When I wasn’t doing…You get the picture. Sleep was wonderful.

Fortunately, the children were marvelous today. They played independently quite well, and then transitioned to playing together. As I’m downstairs writing this, they have been upstairs playing together for two hours. Wear yourselves out, kids.

The Story?

My father has just left to head home. Mommy’s just about to land back at SeaTac. Things are still going well upstairs. I run up to see what they are doing, and they have a small tent set up in the master bedroom, with the entirety of my bedding stuffed inside. They are “camping”, I am informed.

Shortly there after, the boy runs down the stairs, and into the kitchen. After a minute or two, I follow. It’s possible that he’s scrounging for food.

Instead, I find a wet pair of pants and underwear on the floor, but no boy child. Picking up the offending clothing, I head for the laundry room, while calling out for him to meet me at the bathroom. That’s when I hear the patter of little feet streaking from behind the kitchen table, across the house, and back up the stairs.

Now the race is on. I drop the clothing, and give chase. The trouble is that I’m already behind the ball, and that kid is inhumanly fast for his age. I reach the master bedroom, where the girl child is sitting serenely on the stripped bed. She looks over at me and says, “I don’t know where he went.”

Inspiration strikes. Remember, I’m the parent here, I’ve played all these games in my own childhood. So I lift up the tent, and sure enough find a half-naked boy hiding under my comforter. It attempts to flee capture, but the game is over now.

Off we go to learn a quick lesson in the bathroom. He sits nicely on the toilet, which is my queue to dash for fresh clothing. I come back to an empty seat, so I walk back into the master bedroom. There’s the girl, sitting on the bed again, “I don’t know where he went…”

Such is life in the fast lane of parentdom. I laughed hard enough to cause tears, clothed my son, finished transferring the offending clothes to the washer, and dashed off this entry. Now I’ll go make hotdogs, as the natives are getting restless. I hear the drums beating, and fear for my life.