Being a single parent of three monsters at the moment brings me newish insights. I now deeply understand the pain of father Google dealing with us, and what doing the chores all day long means to Matt’s gang in building 43, Dublin, and whereever. What a nightmare of a household.
If you don’t suffer from an offspring plague you won’t believe what sneaky and highly intelligent monsters having too much time on their tiny greedy hands will do to gain control over their environment. Outsmarting daddy is not a hobby, it’s their mission, and everything in perfect order is attackable. Each of them tries to get as much attention as possible, and if nothing helps, negative attention is fine too. There’s no such thing as bad traffic, err … mindfulness.
Every rule is breakable, and there’s no way to argue seriously with a cute 5 yo gal burying her 3 yo brother in the mud whilst honestly telling me that she has nothing to do with the dirty laundry because she never would touch anything hanging on the clothesline. Then my little son speaks out telling me that’s all her fault, so she promises to do it never, never, never again in her whole life and even afterwards. In such a situation I’ve not that much options: I archive my son’s paid links report, accept her reconsideration request but throttle her rankings for a while, recrawl and remove the unpurified stuff from the … Oups … I clear the scene with a pat on her muddy fingers, forgive all blackhatted kids involved in the scandal and just do the laundry again, writing a note to myself to improve the laundry algo in a way that muddy monsters can’t touch laundered bed sheets again.
Anything not on the explicit don’ts list goes, so while I’m still stuffing the washer with muddy bed sheets I hear a weird row in the living room. Running upstairs I spot my 10 yo son and his friend playing soccer with a ball I had to fish out of a heap of broken crockery and uprooted indoor plants to confiscate it just two hours ago. Yelling that’s against our well known rules and why the heck is that […] ball in the game again I get stopped immediately by the boys. First, they just played soccer and the recent catastrophe was the result of a strictly forbidden basketball joust. I’ve to admit that I said they must not play basketball in the house. Second, it’s my fault when I don’t hide the key to the closet where I locked the confiscated ball away. Ok, enough is enough. I banned my son’s friend and grounded himself for a week, took away the ball, and ran to the backyard to rescue two bitterly crying muddy dwarfs from the shed’s roof. Later on, while two little monsters play games in the bath tub which I really don’t want to watch too closely currently, I read a thread titled “Daddy is soooo unfair” in the house arrest forum where my son and his buddy tell the world that they didn’t do anything wrong, just sheer whitehatted stuff, but I stole their toy and banned them from the playground. Sigh.
I’m exhausted. I’m supposed to deliver a script to merge a few feeds giving fresh contents, a crawlability review, and whatnot tonight, but I just wonder what else will happen when I leave the monsters alone in their beds after supper and story hour, provided I get them into their beds without a medium-size flame war. Now I understand why another daddy supplemented the family with a mom.
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