Serious Business...

I haven’t written anything funny lately. I don’t know why that is. I think it’s partially because I’m now in a serious stage of life, with serious issues pressing on me every day. I have a 16-month old son, and this is serious business. You wouldn’t know this by the conversations that my wife and I have now-a-days, which often involve our son. We sound like idiots. I think it’s because when you have kids, your vocabulary shrinks faster than Rick Moranis’ ill-fated children.

I say this because I notice that Nicole and I tend to use the same words over and over again. Those words include: Funny, Poopy, Sleepy, Messy, Icky and Don’t Put that In Your Mouth. It sounds like we’re listings rejects from Snow White’s dwarves.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this, necessarily. There’s just not as much room to use big words. For example, when we first moved into this house, before Justus was born, we installed new doors with lovely nickel-plated French door handles which were simple, yet elegant. We applauded ourselves for our sheik sense of fashion and design. We did not know this at the time, but these door handles are shockingly easy for young children to learn how to operate. So unless we lock the door, Justus can go anywhere in the house, which defeats the purpose of shutting doors. There should have been a warning on the back of the packaging. “Warning: Not for use in a house with Toddlers or Velociraptors.”

So Justus will often barge into rooms. Sometimes, at unfortunate moments. So, when you’re running on 6 hours of sleep, you don’t have the mental energy to say, “I would like to use the restroom unencumbered by precipitous interruptions to my privacy, please.”

You say, “Can I pee in peace, for ONCE. Is that too much to ask? Is it?” Sometimes you yell this down the hall, while your husband is doing dishes in the kitchen. Even though it clearly wasn’t his fault. He is not the one who gets his pampers in a bunch whenever he sees a closed door, okay?

This is just a hypothetical example.

Justus is also starting to learn evil. His mother and I will tell him to do something very elemental like, say, don’t throw your food on the floor. We will meticulously explain that daddy just spent two hours on his hands and knees with hardwood floor cleaner and a thick roll of paper towels cleaning up the residue from your meals and that you would be surprised how difficult peas and dried mango mush is to remove from wood laminate. He will understand this. He will nod his understanding. And yet, he will look us right in the eyes and drop food on the floor in willful defiance.

I don’t know where he picked this stuff up. I would blame it on his environment, but since he spends most of his time at home, that would implicate me, and I’m uncomfortable with that line of reasoning. So I’m going to blame his mother. I’m going to tell her that as soon as she unlocks the bathroom door and comes out.