My wife Lisa and I are both in our thirties. We have our hobbit-sized home that we pay the bills for and try to keep somewhat clean. We have our two children and one weird cat that we feed, love, and do our best to keep alive. We both have jobs that pay us in legal currency.
So I guess we are grown ups? Is that how it works?
We have more meals that include some form of leftover than ones that don’t. My wife has, in the past, thrown her back out and will get heartburn. I have joints that ache. I’m sure, like many people, I am carrying around more weight than I really should. Yet on nights off from work, I will still shove ice cream into my stupid face.
We are grown ups.
My kids are growing up faster than I want them to, but I can’t wait to see the kind of people they become. Unless they are jerks. Honestly, the idea that my kids will turn into some of the assholes that I encounter on a daily basis terrifies me. Lisa and I are doing the best we can to make sure they are functional human beings. I really want them to be good people. Yet I will lay down at night and think of the things I probably fucked up on that particular day. I do this kind of worrying almost every night.
We are grown ups.
There are days that I don’t shower or put on real pants. My wife still laughs whenever one of the girls farts. I will walk around the house singing about what I happen to be doing at the moment. Or singing about the cat. Or the kids. There are lots of stupid songs that happen in my house.
We are grown ups?
My wife and I stress each other out. We could probably be the basis of a crappy sitcom or reality show. We will always say we love one another, then in the same day say something stupid we can’t take back. We have gotten in some of the dumbest arguments that any couple could possibly have. Then we apologize and try to move on. We both love our family and work hard at it. We are a team. We are friends.
We are grown ups.
This last week was not the best when it comes to health. My wife and I were both knocked out by what appeared to be a 24 hour bug. Then after a day and a half of being somewhat better, I was again laid low. Against my wishes, various grossness began shooting out opposite ends. Winter stomach flu. It plain sucked. I vote strongly against it.
My children used this week to prove they can be unfeeling goblins who will tear us apart if it pleases them.
The day both Lisa and I were down was the worst. Basically, we had to take turns trying to rest while the other took a feeble stand against Phoebe and Zoe. I will tell you that changing diapers becomes more unpleasant when you are on the verge of barfing. And that’s not even one of the verbal demands. Food still gets demanded. They continue to fuss when they aren’t getting their way. You still need to keep them occupied. They still want to put stickers on your head. All this must happen while you are wishing you could dig a little burrow in the ground and hide in it. But we love them and no one is going to do these jobs for us. So you plaster on a smile and do your best between frantic runs to the bathroom. The whole time you are also praying to any god who will listen that this plague does not get passed on to the kids.
When Lisa was better and I was still sick, I then had to contend with the solo child herding when mommy had work. Now, one of my daddy functions tends to be as a couch/jungle gym. This is another task that is preferable when you are not a barf machine. Guess who doesn’t give a shit? That’s right, the small children! So the queasy stomach gets stepped on and the glasses get poked at. Sometimes you even take an accidental knee to the groin (which REALLY doesn’t help you feel better) while you are being told to laugh like Bert and Ernie.
It probably goes without saying, but I will anyone. During all this, the cat was no help. Jerk.
So at this point, it seems that recovery is mostly complete. No more barfs or horrid poops. No one is running a temperature. I’m still feeling a little run down, but that just come with the territory. And thankfully neither of the girls seem to have caught anything. But now, I think my wife and I need to come up with a contingency plan. I can’t shake this feeling that Phoebe and Zoe were being merciful. The next time we become this ill could spell our doom if not prepared. So we must prepare to fight off not only the sickness, but also the hyenas.
I feel like I just woke up, even though I have been going since about 7 am this morning. My children are, momentarily, contained in the playroom. The cat, once again making me question how smart she actually is, has buried herself under the covers of our bed and shows no sign of leaving. I am ready to flop down on the floor, but instead I pour myself more coffee in hopes it will revive me. So I will again take this moment to share my brain bugs, only I no longer have the excuse of having just rolled out of bed.
I sometimes wonder if a lack of opposable thumbs is the only things stopping pets from revolting.
We are using ice cream as a potty training reward. Will my daughter forever connect ice cream with poop?
I need to stop making inappropriate versions of the songs on kid’s shows.
I want the power to teleport like Nightcrawler, complete with the “BAMF” and brimstone.
Can a person actually feel themselves getting old or is that just gas?
Ben Franklin and Chris Hardwick are right. Our national bird should have been the turkey.
I can’t change how my brain works. I can just learn how to deal with it better.
Expiration dates have wiggle room, but not in years.
No one tells you that being married gives you someone who thinks it’s funny to fart on you.
The above also applies to children.
This is as far as I can go. I’m starting to over think this too much and my girls are demanding “Yo Gabba Gabba” for the second time. Also, all this coffee is making me have to pee.