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It's really a wonder my alarm clock is still functioning, because most mornings I'm ready to take a ball peen hammer to it. This morning, however, was especially bad. At 6:30 I dragged my festering catatonic self to an upright position, feeling like toasted death on a pointy stick, and wanting nothing more than to shuffle the wee ones off to their respective holding tanks and slouch back to my pillow to pass out again. Unfortunately, that didn't happen: today I am saddled with a Misery Kid.
Nik, you see, has been sporting what could easily pass as a smoker's cough, the kind where you can actually hear his bronchial tubes plotting a coup. And because he has a history of respiratory problems and has run a bit of a temperature on and off for the last few, it was decided that he'd stay home.
So. I wormed my way downstairs to see Nik glommed onto his grandmother, who patiently tried to explain that, contrary to his protests, she really was going to work, unavoidably. Upon seeing me, she immediately signed me on as a diversion tactic, saying, "Oh, look! Daddy will be here with you!" Since this barely even registered with the Misery Kid, she went for the big guns: "And maybe later, Daddy will play Crash Bandicoot."
I could have wrung her neck.
See, in this household, we have a PlayStation 2 hooked up to the big TV, and somehow the games played on said TV have become a spectator sport for the wee ones. They never actually play and PS2 games, mind you, but they insist, with threats implied,that you play, so they can watch. Now, I don't have any problem with that per se. We have about 5 different Crash Bandicoot-themed games right now, and I enjoy them all. I did, however, have a problem with Grandma volunteering me, for two reasons:
1) I was a dead man walking; the only way I could've had even slower reflexes at that point was if I'd been smoking something.
2) Nik, being three, does not understand the concept of "later."
So she bolted for the car at the earliest available opportunity, leaving me with a Misery Kid who's screaming in abject suffering, because not only did Grandma leave him, but Daddy isn't playing Crash Bandicoot right freaking now. For my part, all I could do was persevere in getting Abbey ready for school (a task in itself) while shouting, "Later, Nikolas!" at 20-second intervals, and trying to convince him to put the disc back in its case, because the only thing harder to explain to a cranky three-year-old than "Later" is "The game is broken," and doing all this while pondering whether administering the coffee with a syringe would make it work any faster. It was a fun morning.
Anyway, I did finally play "Crash Bash" for the boy's benefit, while he wandered off for extended periods of time, rushing back into the living room only when I'd announce that I'm turning the game off. The thing about playing a video game with a child in the room is that you rapidly find out what you really sound like, as evidenced by Nik's habit of yelling, "Oh, COME ON!" whenever I lose. This morning, I was particularly bad in the cranky-outburst department, since I was operating on a 5-second delay and failing abysmally. When I'd gotten to my grouchy worst, though, Nik stepped in.
"Whatcha doing, Daddy?
"I'm getting mad."
"No! You're not mad! You're happy! Now keep it down!"
Yes, um, sir.
Nik, you see, has been sporting what could easily pass as a smoker's cough, the kind where you can actually hear his bronchial tubes plotting a coup. And because he has a history of respiratory problems and has run a bit of a temperature on and off for the last few, it was decided that he'd stay home.
So. I wormed my way downstairs to see Nik glommed onto his grandmother, who patiently tried to explain that, contrary to his protests, she really was going to work, unavoidably. Upon seeing me, she immediately signed me on as a diversion tactic, saying, "Oh, look! Daddy will be here with you!" Since this barely even registered with the Misery Kid, she went for the big guns: "And maybe later, Daddy will play Crash Bandicoot."
I could have wrung her neck.
See, in this household, we have a PlayStation 2 hooked up to the big TV, and somehow the games played on said TV have become a spectator sport for the wee ones. They never actually play and PS2 games, mind you, but they insist, with threats implied,that you play, so they can watch. Now, I don't have any problem with that per se. We have about 5 different Crash Bandicoot-themed games right now, and I enjoy them all. I did, however, have a problem with Grandma volunteering me, for two reasons:
1) I was a dead man walking; the only way I could've had even slower reflexes at that point was if I'd been smoking something.
2) Nik, being three, does not understand the concept of "later."
So she bolted for the car at the earliest available opportunity, leaving me with a Misery Kid who's screaming in abject suffering, because not only did Grandma leave him, but Daddy isn't playing Crash Bandicoot right freaking now. For my part, all I could do was persevere in getting Abbey ready for school (a task in itself) while shouting, "Later, Nikolas!" at 20-second intervals, and trying to convince him to put the disc back in its case, because the only thing harder to explain to a cranky three-year-old than "Later" is "The game is broken," and doing all this while pondering whether administering the coffee with a syringe would make it work any faster. It was a fun morning.
Anyway, I did finally play "Crash Bash" for the boy's benefit, while he wandered off for extended periods of time, rushing back into the living room only when I'd announce that I'm turning the game off. The thing about playing a video game with a child in the room is that you rapidly find out what you really sound like, as evidenced by Nik's habit of yelling, "Oh, COME ON!" whenever I lose. This morning, I was particularly bad in the cranky-outburst department, since I was operating on a 5-second delay and failing abysmally. When I'd gotten to my grouchy worst, though, Nik stepped in.
"Whatcha doing, Daddy?
"I'm getting mad."
"No! You're not mad! You're happy! Now keep it down!"
Yes, um, sir.
