No matter your profession, no matter your success in your field, if you have children, you can't escape the job that is being a parent. It is a thankless job (in fact some day they may pay lots of money to complain about you to therapists) and it comes with unexpected trials that no one can possibly prepare you for. And if you somehow manage to prepare for trials A-Z, your kids will one day hit you with trial beta-sub-15 because you hadn't consider Apple Jacks could be weaponized.
My kids are still fairly young. My son, Ricardo Shilley-Shalley is 6, and my daughter, Princess Buttercup is 9. (As always, names have been altered to protect the sometimes innocent) So while i dont yet have to worry about raging hormones or boyfriends with facial tattoos, I have to worry about saying "Don't touch that!" over one hundred times a day, every day.
Sleep is precious in my house, and sleeping extra is highly dangerous. On weekends my kids will wake us up at the crack of dawn, fully clothed and hungry enough to chew through the cupboard doors to get at the food. On school mornings however, every piece of clothing they put on, every bite of cereal they take is an ordeal and a fight.
One particular weekend, two or three years ago now, my wife and I thought it would be fine to sleep in an hour or two after the kids were up. They had access to Pop-Tarts and Netflix cartoons on a Saturday morning, and we were in full just-five-more-minutes mode. But eventually, I had to get up to make sure the house was still standing.
Ever come across a mess so big that you don't know where to start? I mean a mess so big you don't even get mad. A mess so unbelievably huge that you just stare, taking it in and trying to make it register. When I saw the Living Room that morning, I stood in awe for a good ten seconds, turned and went back into my room without saying a word to my kids. To my wife, I said, "Your children made a mess."
What exactly had they done? Well, they had gotten into our pantry, taken out 4 boxes of dry spaghetti, crushed it down to confetti, and made it rain all over the living room.
"But why?" I hear you ask. (I know I asked that question many many MANY times that morning) Their answer, "Because it feels good when you break spaghetti under your feet on carpet."
One of my largest regrets over the last few years is that I didn't take a video, or even a picture of the living room that morning. I will be reminding my kids of that mess for the rest of their lives, and I don't have any photographic proof of what occurred there that day.
We spent hours vacuuming, sweeping, and disassembling furniture to try to clean up that mess. And as it turns out, we didn't even get it all. Last week, we replaced our entertainment center, and among the detritus that was underneath the old cabinets? Lots of spaghetti.
Next month we are finally replacing the carpet in the living room. That poor carpet has had so many spills on it. We have a 'no drinks in the living room' rule that no one follows, and Ricardo can't look at a cup of kool-aid without spilling it. (but only ever drinks that are 110% sure to leave a stain.) I expect that when we take out that carpet, we will find a lot more spaghetti.
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