The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Ok. They’re not actually enemies, more like competitors, fighting for the same trophy of moral superiority.
But after a day of don’t-hit, make-your-bed, no-hitting, throw-your-fit-in-your-room, pick-up-your-toys, because-I-said-so, no-kicking, get-down-off-of-there, because-we’re-going-now, share, play-nice, let’s-go-now, no, I think I’m also fighting for my sanity and well-being. When the boys have a glint in their eyes, I know they’re about to team up against me, if only to wrestle out their issue with each other. Then I have to use The Voice because no one listened to me the first time or the third. I don’t like using The Voice; things should be done when first Asked.
But then they found an unlikely ally. Unlikely because he had to deal with the don’t-hit, don’t-wrestle, don’t-knock-your-brother’s-head-into-drywall, I-don’t-care-if-he’s-touching-you, stop-touching-your-sister, share, you-can-only-have-ONE-scoop-of-ice-cream, no-you-can’t-eat-his-tater-tots, knock-it-off, too. But maybe not as unlikely because I was one third of the team slowly trying to steal his insanity as I yelled, “His leg is touching mine!” (“For the love of God, you’re twenty, Fae!” “Well, her hair is on my shoulder” “T, your nineteen, get over it.” “DAD!” “We are always taking separate cars from now on.”)
But I changed teams! I’m on his side now! No harm, no fall. He still has his sanity . . . well, most of it. Some of it left with the hair, but still, we’re on the same team now.
Nope. As evident from yesterday’s post, my dad is decided to switch sides and help my boys shove me towards insanity. I don’t know if it’s pay back or if what Bill Cosby said was true (which I changed a little because he was talking about his mom). “That’s not the same person I grew up with. He’s an old person now. He’s trying to get into heaven now.”
Take when Tornado E has refused point blank to eat dinner, even if he liked the same meal two days before. Fine. If he doesn’t want to eat it, then he doesn’t have to, but it will be there when he’s hungry later. Of course, Papi sneaks in a cracker or a cookie or “Papi candy,” aka mint Lifsavers to the prisoner. Papi also sneaks in “appetizers” like crackers, cheese, or chips. No wonder the kid didn’t eat. Not to mention Papi is a huge supporter of “Let the kid eat what the kid wants” theory.
I have no idea where this came from because I didn’t grow up with that. I was forced to clean my plate. If I didn’t like something, then too bad, eat it any ways. I’m glad I don’t have to fight my dad on my food theories, but don’t act like that candy Tornado E has in his mouth wasn’t from you. Besides your grandson ratted you out the minute I asked what was in his mouth.
But the latest evidence is the inflatable pirate ship kiddie pool that my father decided to “sail” on the pool after I explained that it wasn’t safe. So there it was a kiddie pool sailing in the big pool. Awesome. Thanks for making me look like a unfun, hard-ass. When the ship got to be too much, Papi beached it and helped Tornado E remove the squirting canon from the bow. With Papi manning the hose, Tornado E was able to hit his mom anywhere in the pool. No matter where I swam, when I came up for air, I was hit by a spray of water that Papi, ever so sweetly, made sure was on full blast.
So basically my dad still enjoys torturing me. He just has some new teammates. Teammates who would throw a fit if they were to go a day without their beloved Papi.
Just you wait, old man. I’ll get you some day.