Lately I’ve been noticing a certain shift in the balance of power in my household. At first It presented it self subtly but it’s gotten quite out of hand as of late. I hate to admit it but I feel like I’m starting to lose control. I am 100% aware that the odds are stacked against me. I am also obviously cognizant of the fact that I am Out-Numbered in more ways than one. I’m ok with all of this. I am at peace with it. I’m playing the hand that I’ve been dealt so to speak. But there are certain atrocities that have been committed. There are certain liberties that have been taken. I like to refer to them as crimes of war. I must draw the line in the sand or lose what little freedom I have left. I must defend my dignity. I must dig the proverbial mote around my castle before it’s too late. I must…
GET MY FUCKING KIDS OUT OF OUR BED!!!
That’s right. You heard me. Those cute, little, happy-go-lucky, miniature, monsters have taken over the last place in our home or in our marriage for that matter that is still sacred. I’ve never been one of those parents that claim to know everything about child rearing. Apart from the very questionable credibility I receive from writing this blog, I’m not sure why I’m still being asked to contribute to various parenting websites. I certainly have never been one to pass judgement on another couple’s style of parenting. I will admit that I’ve always been quietly skeptical of the merits that one would find in allowing your children to share your bed. You hear about it all the time. Everyone knows a family that let’s their children sleep with them. Usually it starts out when they are very young, most probably because of the convenience of close proximity while in the breast-feeding stage. I can see why this would make sense early on but I would imagine it could get downright maddening and uncomfortable, as they grow older and larger. Through the years it never seems to change and there is always some justification to make it seem acceptable. I’ve heard parents say that they don’t even realize when their kid climbs into bed with them in the middle of the night or that they let them come in only if they have a bad dream and can’t fall back asleep. My personal favorite is, we only let our child sleep in our bed on the weekend. On the weekend? Are you on kiddie crack? I’ll be the first one to admit that my wife and I aren’t exactly swingers. We certainly aren’t doing Mickey Rourke / Kim Basinger type shit. We don’t even have a sex swing. But the weekend? I’m of the Lionel Ritchie school of thought. If my wife and I didn’t have Sunday morning, we wouldn’t have any kids. That’s why I’m easy. It’s like sexual Tivo. Set it up in my favorites and let it go. This is why I never thought it would happen to me. I still until this very moment have been in complete denial.
I’m a firm believer in the philosophy of: if you give an inch, they will take a mile. Here is the back-story. I’m sort of a closet neat freak. I know it drives my wife crazy at times but I can’t help it. I’m constantly picking shit up around the house. I have a very special relationship with my Shark Electric Broom. I make all kinds of rules about not eating in the den and no Play-Doh in the living room. No one in my household gives a crap and no one listens to me and I’m cool with that. I’m just the idiot Dad that walks around the house in his underwear mumbling crazy person talk under his breath. As a matter of fact I’m pretty sure my daughters mock me when I leave the room. The point is that there comes a time when a man has to stand his ground. I can trace the origin of this current situation back about three months ago. I was lying in our bed trying to fall asleep and I felt itchy for some reason. I tossed and turned a bit and then felt some hard granular type of particles beneath me. At first I thought it was sand but then I realized that we hadn’t been to the beach in about seven years. I rolled over and turned on the lamp next to my bed. I knew right then and there that it was a Code Red.
Out-Numbered - “God damn it!”
My wife woke up startled.
Wife – “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Out-Numbered – “What did you do?”
Wife – “What are you talking about? I was sleeping.”
Out-Numbered – “That’s not what I meant. Don’t play dumb.”
Wife – “Are you out of your mind? Go back to sleep.”
Out-Numbered – “There’s been a major breach in security. I’m not messing around?”
Wife – “Get to the point before I breach your face.”
Out-Numbered – “Huh?”
Wife – “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
Out-Numbered – “Oh, right… Do you mind telling me what this is in our bed?”
Wife – “It looks like Goldfish crumbs, why?”
Out-Numbered – “Goldfish crumbs? WHY? Have you any idea what this means?”
Wife – “It means our kids were eating Goldfish in our bed dumb ass. Now go back to bed.”
Out-Numbered – “Oh boy. I’m telling you, this isn’t good. No sir…”
What my wife doesn’t understand is that kids are like wild animals. They are very territorial. When you break it down to core fundamental instincts, there isn’t a hell of a lot of differences between my two daughters and a pack of savage coyotes. If it weren’t for the smell of Aveeno baby wash on my kids I would barely be able to tell them apart from the dogs. It’s amazing how much whining can sound like howling when it hits a certain pitch. Instead of pissing on my bed to mark their territory, they leave Goldfish crumbs. You think it sounds crazy? Not really. Once you let them in, you’re fucked. When I found those Goldfish crumbs I knew it was already too late. My poor wife never saw it coming.
Three months later, my kids are still leaving their droppings all over my bed. Goldfish crumbs, Oreos, cheese crackers, you name it. It’s like a freakin picnic in there. When Bon Jovi wrote the lyrics to the song, “Bed of Roses” I’m pretty sure his first draft was:
I wanna lay you down in a bed of Oreos
For tonight I’ll sleep on a bed of Goldfish crackers
I wanna be just as close as your Holy Ghost is
And lay you down in a bed of Oreos.
But the record label told him that shit wouldn’t fly on radio so he changed it.
About two weeks ago my youngest daughter started to insist that in lieu of napping in her crib she would rather nap in our bed. First sign of the apocalypse.
Wouldn’t you know it, about a week ago my oldest daughter started coming into our bed in the middle of the night? She says she’s been having bad dreams and she doesn’t want to sleep alone. Total Armageddon.
Cue the Aerosmith. I bet Bruce Willis was never this Out-Numbered…