I have two boys, naked with boots on, plugged into the TV, with lunch, untouched and waiting, on their little table in the kitchen. I wonder how long I have before Tornado A wakes up and ruins my alone time with a crowd. Can I measure it in how many blog posts I will get to read? 3. 6. Probably just 1 because my boys can sense when I’m actually free. Just like they sense when I’ve stayed up too late and therefore they have to get up extra early to punish me.
Tornado E is sick. And he is devastated. My social butterfly cannot go to school and hone his fledgling skills as the class clown. His teachers must be rejoicing. I haven’t had the heart to tell him he will be missing his first t-ball practice tonight. Not after his grandparents showered him with a new glove, bat, cleats, and pants yesterday.
So instead, I plugged him into the TV. It’s the only thing that will keep him the f- down. Nothing else will. Play-dough: for five minutes. Toys: for five minutes. Coloring: no. Board games: until he loses. Puzzles: the hell no. So I play the bad mom and let my kids become TV zombies as I cross things off my list and write and let Tornado A follow me around the house.
Then will come The Day After the Illness. And Hell will break loose because I won’t allow the zombies to feast on hours of cartoons. I won’t let them just sit around. I won’t let them whine. Then I’ll start thinking about getting rid of the TV.
Or the kids.
I haven’t decided which yet. Ask me in a couple of days.