This is about raising my kids. This is about the work that
is involved in trying to, ultimately, unleash two “good citizens” on the world.
I didn’t want this job. A long time ago I told Deb that I
didn’t want kids and we almost didn’t get married because of that. She changed
my mind. I changed my mind. When I changed my mind I accepted the fact that I
was going to have to put some energy into turning babies into responsible
adults. At first I just wanted to keep them from potentially biting anyone who reaches
for the last piece of pizza. Then the job got a lot more complicated.
Running on the basic tenet that a person needs to be smart,
strong, compassionate and have a sense of humor I developed a rigorous program
for my children. The most significant tool in this program so far has been
screaming like a lunatic at them. As ineffective as that is I can’t stop. I sometimes
try to be rational. I sometimes try to explain my perspective and why I make a
request or choose a course of action. Sometimes these behaviors work. Most
times they don’t.
“WHY CAN’T YOU GET THE TISSUE INTO THE BASKET? WHAT THE HELL
IS WRONG WITH YOU? IT’S A FOOT AND A HALF DROP FROM YOUR HAND INTO A FOOT AND A
HALF WIDE HOLE! YOU SEE IT! YOU SEE THE TISSUE! I KNOW YOU SEE THE SNOT-FILLED,
ROTTING TISSUE! WHAT IS KEEPING YOU FROM PICKING IT UP? IS IT HAUNTED? IS THERE
A CURSE ON IT? DID YOU READ AN ARTICLE THAT SAID PICKING UP TISSUES CAUSES
HEART DISEASE? RICKETS? I NEED AN EXPLANATION NOW!”
Usually I curse when I’m screaming. For the purposes of this
blog I will paint myself in a more favorable light.
I tell the girls the reason I’m so adamant about them
picking up after themselves is because I know that soon they will have
roommates. We all remember the roommate we had who was a pig. That dirty-underwear-dropping,
no-dish-cleaning, pee-around-the-toilet, crumb-spraying piece of crap who you
will never forget. I don’t want my daughters to be hated in their own homes. It’s
fundamental. There’s a damn Barney song about it. “Clean up, clean up,
everybody do your share.”
My daughters’ lives will be better if they develop a sense of obligation to other people and make the world a better place by cleaning up their garbage. This kind of behavior will seep into every aspect of their lives and make them the kind of people that other people want to be around. The will live enriched, purposeful lives and all it takes is picking up a snotty tissue and throwing it in the waste basket.
My daughters’ lives will be better if they develop a sense of obligation to other people and make the world a better place by cleaning up their garbage. This kind of behavior will seep into every aspect of their lives and make them the kind of people that other people want to be around. The will live enriched, purposeful lives and all it takes is picking up a snotty tissue and throwing it in the waste basket.
See what I did there? I made it sound as if I yell at them
for their benefit.
The truth is I’m just tired of picking up after them. I see
every gum wrapper and half-emptied yogurt container as a slap in the face. Every
piece of trash that doesn’t make it into the bin taunts me from the floor. I
can hear it saying, “I don’t care about you or what your wife thinks. You overreact
to everything, especially seeing me just relaxing here on the floor. I’ll
eventually get in the trash but for right now you need to calm down and deal
with things that actually matter. Plus you’re a hypocrite.”
“I’m a hypocrite?”
“Yeah, I know you leave trash sitting out all the time. I
heard from a used Dixie Cup that your underwear is all over your bathroom
floor.”
“That’s true. There’s no denying that I’m guilty of all the
things I crawl up my kids butts about. But I don’t come close to operating on a
professional level. And we both know that’s not the point, you piece of trash.”
I just had an imaginary conversation with garbage from my
kids’ bathroom floor.
I think I’ll go tidy up the kitchen. . . that’s where the scotch
is.
