Saturday, April 27, 2013

The Rat

"Don't worry, HP, I only told them EVERYTHING."
I think it’s time to introduce Bub to the genre of gangster films. Because he is currently headed down a one-way street to fish-sleeping with his utter and holistic lack of loyalty. Note example A:

“Daddy, HP tried to escape diaper change,” Bub said. It was first thing in the morning, apropos of nothing. All I did was walk in the room, looking for coffee. Wrong room.

“Wow, you mean to tell me that Mommy changed HP’s diaper and HP tried to roll away?”


“Well, holy moly, did you notify the authorities? She could be anywhere!”

“There she is, Daddy.” Of course she was. Because she’s immobile. And also, Bub, who cares?

“Well, we can close the books on that one. She can’t really get far, can she?”

“HP a rolling-over ma-CHINE!”

“Yes yes, but why are you telling me she tried to escape?”


“You know, you could have covered for her, Bub, instead of throwing her under the bus,” I said, shaking my head. “You fucking rat.”

“What’s a rat, Daddy?”

“Well, Bub, a rat is a filthy piece of vermin that spreads entrusted secrets around like the bubonic plague, betrays all its friends, and cowers in sewers, feasting on feces.”

“Oooooooh, that sounds GOOOOOD!”

And then there’s the time he ratted his own Bubbe out. Yeah. His own beloved, fawning, IPad-owning, Dum Dum-purveying Bubbe. We walked in after a babysitting session, and Mommy says to Bubbe:

“Mom, why is your mouth blue? Oh my God, are you OKAY??”

“Um, yeah. Why?”

End of conversation. Thought nothing of it. Perhaps a circulation problem. Then we asked Bub what he did with Bubbe. He couldn’t wait to dessimate their relationship.

“We ate DUM DUMS!”

“Oh, Dum Dums, huh? Probably weren’t supposed to tell us that.”

“I ate a red one!”

“Oh, that’s my favorite.”

“And Bubbe have BLUE one!”

“Real nice, Bub. Didn’t even ask about Bubbe. You fucking rat.”

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The Hand

Don't I look just like that chick chained to Jabba's bed?
The other day, I put Bub down for his nap and went to the living room to work. He talked and sang to himself for a good while; not unusual. I thought I heard a few bangs and knocks coming from that direction, but it was storming, branches were blowing, etc. Whatever, it’s not like he could get out of his wide open big boy bed on his own.

Maybe forty minutes later, I had to go to the bathroom. The bathroom is right across the hall from the kids' room, which is relevant because there I sat, going about my business, when I happen to look over and see this:

An addition flash card was sucked into the darkness. OH MY GOD, IT’S BOBBY!!! HOLY SHIT, HE’S REAL!!

Because it’s well-known that Bub is not physically capable of breaking through the invisible one-way force field surrounding his big boy bed. Well, it DID, anyway. Even though theoretically we knew this day would come, I was completely stupefied. You’re telling me he had gotten himself untucked, disabled the imaginary force field, just to stick his hand under the door? Why?

So I did the most mature thing I could think of: I got down flat on the floor, ninja style, and peeked under the door.

“Hi, Daddy!”

Right into the ambush. Same feeling I had playing Lazer Tag last week. You know the one, when you’re stealthing around, clinging to walls, shortening your breathing. And then suddenly your chest starts bleeding flashing lights and some 12 year-old who has been watching you the whole time stands there laughing his ass off while you writhe in self-pity.

So I opened the door. And like most kids, I presume, he was just sitting there, playing with his number flashcards. In the dark.

“I made this!” he said.

“What did you make, Bub?” Why was I even asking? We do not negotiate with terrorists.

“I made THIS!” he said, pointing at a mess of flashcards. “Equals. I made TWO equals.”

“Wow, awesome. Say, I can’t help but noticing you’re not in bed during nap time.”

“I’m a-WAKE!”

“Great, well I’ve got a new problem for you. Are you ready? 5 plus 2 equals GET YOUR ASS BACK IN BED!”

It happened a couple more times that week, then he started staying in bed. I guess he tired of his little game. Either that, or stepping on the booby traps I laid around the room. Six in one, half dozen the other.