The How-Not-To Guide to Parenting and Marriage (5 page)

17.
SHOPPING

Why does my wife insist that I go shopping at the mall with her? She claims that it is so that we can have some “together time”. I would think that together time would involve doing something that we both enjoy. And I definitely don’t enjoy shopping. I mean, I would never ask her to come over to my neighbor Robert’s garage to help Robert and I fill balloons with gasoline to throw at ant hills  . . . . And why? . . . . Because she wouldn’t enjoy it. Therefore, it would not be quality “together time”.

So why would she think that I would enjoy our “together time” while shopping? I would rather have chains wrapped around my pinky fingers and attached to a school bus axel, and then have the bus drag me across a playground full of children taunting me and throwing rocks at my head, than go shopping at the mall.

And why does she ask my opinion while shopping? She will hold up a blue and a red dress, and ask me which one I like better. It is unacceptable for me to answer, “I like them both just fine, dear”. But yet, if I were to answer, “I think the red one would look nice on you”, she will inevitably pick the blue one! So what is the point of asking me in the first place? Unless she feels that my fashion sense is so awful, that she will be making the right move by automatically picking the opposite of the one I choose.

 
If all that weren’t bad enough, whenever she needs to make a really important decision over a dress, or high heels for a wedding, or a fancy dinner, she is not satisfied trying it on herself and looking in the mirror . . . . .  she insists that I put on the dress and/or heels, so that she can see how they look “walking from behind”, which is humiliating enough in itself. But even that is child’s play compared to sashaying around the store in a dress and heels, only to look up and see the principle of my daughters school (who is well acquainted with my daughter and family due to her shenanigans) staring at me with a look of . . . well,  . . . . horrified wonder.

I think it’s too late for me now. It is beyond the point where I can convince my wife that I don’t like shopping, and that it is not quality “together time”. But hopefully this will encourage other young husbands to put an end to things such as this, right from the beginning. Once you pretend to enjoy something, even if it is for the sake of not hurting your wife’s feelings, you are locked in for life.

18.
THE NORMAL FAMILY SHOW

My wife had been on the phone for about fifteen minutes. I had been listening to bits of the conversation because she was sitting next to me on the couch, and talking so loudly that it made it difficult to hear the television. As she said her goodbyes to whomever she had been talking to, I heard her say, "Ok then, we'll see you on Saturday."

This statement resulted in one of my eyebrows raising as I queried, "See who, where on Saturday?"

"I invited the Bill and Linda over Saturday evening", she answered.

"CRAP!" I thought to myself, knowing that the inviting over of company, means that everyone in our house will soon be forced to take part in a theatrical performance that rivals anything that you might find on Broadway. I like to call it, THE NORMAL FAMILY SHOW.

The first step in producing THE NORMAL FAMILY SHOW is to construct the stage set. This involves transforming our house into a make-believe scene where everything is clean, orderly, and in its place. Normally this will take a minimum of three solid days of cleaning, dusting, organizing, and tracking down all foul odors to whatever forgotten piece of rotten pizza it is coming from. But being only a stage setting, one must not look too deeply behind the scenes. Clothes are stuffed into the dish-washer, dirty dishes are hidden in the bath tub, and general clutter is stashed under beds, behind couches, or any place out of sight.

Props are then added as finishing touches. Props such as a fake exercise schedule stuck on the refrigerator and lit candles. My zombie apocalypse survival guide and hot rod magazine are replaced with "books of substance" on the coffee table . . . . . books with lots of words. And to top it all off, a stack of drink coasters are displayed in order to give the appearance that our furniture is actually worth keeping it in good condition.

However, the stage setting is only half of what it takes to produce THE NORMAL FAMILY SHOW. Just as important to a successful show, if not more so, is the actors' performances.         Before the audience (company) arrives, my wife prepares each actor for their role. The first order of business is the assigning of the costumes.

I am required to change out of my favorite vintage Pink Floyd tee-shirt and sweats with the hole in the crotch, and into a nice pair of jeans and a polo shirt. I am then ordered to shave and q-tip the debris out of my ears, and brush my hair (I hardly have enough to brush).

The girls are forced to remove any remnants of food that may have been stuck in their hair, and then brush and install pony tails. All magic marker tattoos are to be removed, and the costumes they are forced to wear are matching (much to their delight) and are completely stain-free.

We are then further prepared for our roles by the reading of "the list of things that we shouldn't do while company is here."

"Jon, no burping or farting at the table, no putting food or objects in your nose and ears in order to make people laugh, mind where you scratch, and use the silverware provided. Please limit the amount of time you spend discussing zombies".

"Hannah and Natalie, no biting or hair pulling, no hitting and kicking (including the children of our company), no whining, no crying, no acting like your father, and at least pretend to like each other."

So now, with all this preparation being done, it is now time for our guests to arrive. We all sit motionless on the couch, afraid that any movement will get us yelled at by the director (my wife). We are frozen in time for what seems like an eternity.

Finally, the company arrives and walks in the door. My wife gives the signal to all actors that the show has begun by saying, "Welcome! Come in! I'm sorry the place is such a mess" (as if the place was normally cleaner, and we didn't just spend the last two days scrubbing, dusting, and stashing).

We then spend the rest of the evening being uncomfortably pleasant to one another, and refraining from having any psychotic freak-out episodes. We sit at the table and pass food around, as opposed to the usual wander and graze that we are accustomed to. The television is left off, which was very painful and foreign to me, and I held all bodily functions until I felt like I might be harming my health. All in all, the show was a success.

I guess I don't mind the production of THE NORMAL FAMILY SHOW, but I do find it humorous in that the family we portray during THE NORMAL FAMILY SHOW, is the exception instead of the norm. I'm sure that family does exist somewhere, but I think the only thing that is normal about THE NORMAL FAMILY SHOW is perhaps the fact that we put it on, just like our company will do the next time we are invited over to their house.

19.
DRIVING WITH CHILDREN

I firmly believe that in addition to the normal driver’s training that everyone takes to acquire their driver’s license, couples should also have to take a second driver’s training class before being allowed to drive with children in the vehicle. A course where future parents would have to maneuver through a course of obstacles while an instructor screams constantly at ear shattering volume, showers them with fake vomit, and pulls their hair out by the roots from the back seat.

They need to be taught how a child, in the ten seconds between glances in the rear view mirror, can go from peacefully strapped in their car seat sleeping, to out of the car seat, naked, and choking the neck of the younger child who is strapped in her car seat, leaving her unable to defend herself.

Just when someone thinks they have mastered the driving of a vehicle with children in the car, it is a sure thing that the children will come up with a new scenario that no one could have ever dreamed would happen. I have experienced just such things.

I was once on my way to an appointment with the pediatrician for my six year old daughter Hannah. On the way to the doctor’s office, I had stopped at burger king and gotten her and her younger sister, who was also along for the ride, two kids’ meals to keep them occupied while I drove.

At some point during the eating of the kid’s meals, the younger Natalie had somehow gotten ahold of Hannah’s kid’s meal toy, and refused to give it back. Hannah began screaming in rage, and threatened to kill her younger sister, who then responded by throwing the toy out the car window.

Now here is where events get a little blurred, but to the best of my recollection, Hannah, who was now in psychotic mode, escaped from her car seat, and had crossed from her side of the back seat, over to Natalie’s side. Then, reaching over her sister, she opened the car door. The roar of the opened door deafening.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!!” I screamed as I tried to get enough of a hold on the opened door to get it closed.

But Hannah was oblivious to my demand. She now focused her energy on trying to force her sister, car seat and all, out the opened door by wedging her back against her own car seat, and pushing with her feet against Natalie’s seat, which began to tilt towards the roaring opened door.

The intensity of the panic that I experienced in that moment is hard to even put into words. I can tell you that it caused me to squeal like a teenage girl in the front row of a Justin Bieber concert, and then spring into action. I tried to balance my efforts between keeping Natalie and her seat from being forced into the void, and trying to get the door shut, leaving Hannah in my blind spot, which was my first mistake.

Hannah, who was now not only mad at Natalie, but me as well for trying to thwart her attempts to murder her sister, jammed a French fry into my left ear . . . . . and not a soft greasy one either. I’m talking one of those rock hard, pointy ones. The pain was sharp, making it hard not to abandon my youngest daughter’s plight, and reach for the deep fried weapon sticking out of my ear, but I had no hands to spare.

Ignoring the pain, I was finally able to get Natalie’s car seat up-righted with one arm, while using the other arm to guard my remaining good ear from Hannah, who was attempting to flank me with another particularly deadly looking fry. I then was able to get the door closed and locked, leaving me able to focus my attention on the remaining task of getting the wild child restrained back into her car seat.

With great difficulty, I was able to wrestle my daughter into one of the submission moves I had seen professional wrestlers use. I then plopped her back into her car seat, and re-installed her restraints.

Finally, the situation was under control, and I breathed a long sigh of relief. I looked at Natalie who was laughing as if nothing out of the ordinary had even happened, and then over at Hannah who was sulking, and then back at Natalie.

This is the point at which the little voice that is way in the back of my head, began to ask, “Soooo, if Natalie is there in her car seat, and Hannah is over there in her car seat. . . . . and I am sitting between the two of them, then . . . . . . . . . Who is driving the-?

Before the voice could finish the question, or I had a chance to answer it, the rumble of tires transitioning from pavement to gravel demanded my attention.

Lunging from the back seat, I was able to get a hand on the steering wheel and narrowly keep us from traveling completely across median, and into the oncoming traffic.  Slowly we coasted to a stop.

I exited the vehicle and went to rear of car to vomit from the anxiety and pull the French fry from my throbbing ear. It took nearly twenty minutes of panting and thanking the Lord, to finally calm down enough to resume our trip.

Now remember, at the time this incident had occurred, I had already been driving children around for several years. Imagine a less experienced parent driver in these circumstances. I know that no driver’s training class will ever be able to prepare you for every crazy circumstance such as this, but young parents would at least, get an idea for they might encounter while driving with children.

20.
THE HORROR

My wife and I were having a spirited discussion in the bathroom one day. I wouldn't actually call it a fight, but it was close. The conversation carried on while I was in the shower, and she was at the sink doing her hair.

Each time she wanted to emphasize a certain point, she would fling open the shower curtain, and let me have it eye to eye, and then close it again. This went on for several minutes, until she pulled the curtain back closed for a last time, and I heard the bathroom door open and close. . . . . Finally, I can shower in peace.

A few minutes later, the door opened and closed again, followed by the sound of the shower curtain being flung open. "Great", I thought, "here comes round two."

But when I turned toward the opening, expecting to see my wife's face, I was surprised to find nothing there.... Just air!

Way back, in the back of my mind, my little voice suggested, "Maybe it’s not your wife, maybe it’s someone . . . . . . . shorter"

Slowly l
ooking down, I was horrified to see my smiling daughter, who had just turned four, standing there. And in perfect unison, as I had lowered my gaze to see the child, the child's eyes also lowered so that she went from looking at my face, to looking at . . . .  Welllll, the area between my knees and my belly button. . . .  Yes, there.

I had never felt so naked in all my life. In that moment, I think if given the choice, I might have opted for standing naked in the middle of the mall during Christmas shopping season, rather than in front of my daughter.

"GET OUTTA HERE!" I shrieked.

She stood
staring for a few more seconds as if she hadn't even heard me, and then calmly looked back up at my face and said, "That’s really weird", and then shut the shower curtain, and left the bathroom with a slam of the door.

I stood there paralyzed. I didn't know what I was supposed to do in this situation. Was there some agency I was supposed to notify?

I was certain that if there was such an agency, they had probably already been alerted by the computer chip that the government implanted in the child's brain at birth. For all I knew, the child welfare SWAT team might already have my house surrounded! At the very least, I was sure my name had already been added to some publicly displayed list of predators.

I envisioned people that I knew, grabbing their children and shielding them from me whenever I walked into the room, much like a parent would do if a ravenous lion had just been let loose from its cage. I would surely be shunned, and run out of neighborhood. I would probably end up being forced to live in the Siberian wilderness, far from society's disapproval of my showering negligence.

And then I began to wonder what kind of questions my wife having to answer while I hid in the shower, and it made me tremble in horror. Maybe I should go out and help her explain things . . . . . No way. I was staying put.

I hid out until the hot water had long run out, and my whole body had pruned. I could stay no longer. I had to get out regardless of whether the child molester cops were waiting for me or not. I could only hope that at the very least, the inevitable conversation between the child and mother was over.

After dressing, I tip-toed out of the bathroom and around the corner to find my wife sitting on the couch with a bewildered look on her face.

"Did she ... uhh" I started to ask.

"Ohhh yes!" my wife interrupted firmly.

Trying to become as invisible as possible, I went outside and sat down in my shed, and began writing my goodbye letters to the family while I waited for the child welfare cops to come hall me away.

I waited until midnight before finally going back into the house. The cops never did come for me that night, or ever, much to my surprise.

I found out later from my wife, that the child's only question to her was how boys could poop with the equipment they were given. I didn't ask how she answered the question, nor did she offer.

I have also learned since then, that many parents are very open with their children about such things, and maybe that's the best policy, but to insure I never have to relive such an incident, I have taken to showering with swimming trunks on.