Shaggin' wagon (part fin)

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Nick asked that I not ruin his post with an intro.  His wish is my command. 

There was once a time when Hannah went on these girls weekends, when I would pull out my ramʼs horn and send a bellowing message to all of my friends. We would assemble and revert back to a drunken infancy, interrupted only by Del Taco and soiled pants. That feels like a lifetime ago as I counted the days before this years trip, which would leave me at home alone for three days with our three beautiful children. Although I tried to look at this as an opportunity to spend quality time away from endless work with those children Hannah tells me about, I knew better.

They just wear you down. A few hours, and my college education is gone to lunch with my perspective, laughing over nachos about the pathetic ass they left back at home with those screaming sacks of eyes and teeth. It isnʼt a specific offense, per se, but a culmination of small challenges.

The infant begins to chatter at Six. AM. I jump out of bed to quickly brush my teeth before she wakes up the one year old. The one year old is already up and screams violently when I go to the infant first. I go to the one year old and the infant sobs hard enough to vomit some kind of mucus. The three year old is now up and screaming she has to pee. She is wearing undies. We started potty training a week ago.

I leave the puker and the other one with abandonment issues to help the pisser. She somehow pees around the toilet seat she is sitting on. I am kneeling on the floor cleaning urine from around the toilet to a chorus of sadness under the supervision of a hyperactive naked girl who saved some of the urine in her bladder to run down her legs once standing.

 “Ellie, why are you peeing now?”

 “Iʼm not Ellie, Iʼm a baby crocodile.” What?

 “Baby crocodile, why are you peeing on the floor?”

 “Baby crocodile is sad.” What? Note to self, do not ask questions to which you either already know the answer, or do not care about the answer.

 “Daddy needs baby crocodile to please pee on the potty” I say as I place her wet ass in the tub and turn on the water.

After I finally have them changed, fed and planted firmly in front of the television, I am amazed by how swiftly I am able to transition my mood to hopeless boredom.

Yesterday, I think to myself, I made several decisions that immediately affected the lives of over twenty patients. Now, the thought that surfaces between waves of boredom is “Why wouldnʼt they eat the bananas I gave them for breakfast?” I resolved to make them eat those bananas before they eat anything else for lunch.

They didnʼt eat the damn bananas for lunch either.

I couldnʼt hold out for my break any longer. I put them up for their nap with empty stomachs about an hour before their normal nap time. I was just sitting down with a huge sandwich to watch Steven Seagal preach Justice to the mean streets when the pisser starts to run around her bedroom. I can hear her feet running from what sounds like one side of the house to the other. I decided not to hear anything. Not the first, but the second loud slamming noise forced me to put down my almost untouched lunch and reluctantly go up the stairs with a bite of turkey sandwich so big I couldnʼt chew.

I opened her bedroom door to see that she was pulling out the dresser drawers and piling them, and their contents, on the floor.

“Ellie, what are you doing?”

“Iʼm a baby crocodile.”

“Baby crocodile, what are you doing?”

“Baby crocodile needs a bath.” What? I experienced a shock of concern as I walked over close enough to see she was standing in a pool of urine. The urine trailed from her bed. I set her in the tub and took the bedding to the washer in the basement where I also left my urine soaked shirt. As I emerged from the basement I could hear the chorus return, lead by the pisser with attachment issues and the teething puker singing backup. The song they sang was called “Endless Despair.”

Thank god for the alcohol that got me through the remainder of the weekend. 

The more sober I became Sunday, the louder the song bellowed in my mind. I mean, they used to eat bananas all the freaking time. They will starve before I throw the bananas out. Why didnʼt they sleep last night. They laughed at me every time I became frustrated. If the baby crocodile wants to be tucked in then why does it keep getting out of the freaking bed.

My wife and her cheap friends came back at 630 Sunday night all happy and smiley. 

“How was the weekend Nick?” one of them asked in some kind of a sarcastic voice.

“There is no Nick, only Zool.”

They did not have anything clever to say about that.

“We will all perish in flames.” I stated. “Right, baby crocodile?”



2 comments:

Beth Thomason said...

Oh man i am laughing so hard right now...as i know that most of this should be taken as a joke i can totally hear the seriousness in every word that nick spoke! I dont' think you'll ever have to worry about him wanting you to get a job....:)

Julia P F said...

It is amazing how things that I do daily will reduce my husband to panic attacks and tears... You would think he would remember this more and bring me gifts routinely.