The How-Not-To Guide to Parenting and Marriage (3 page)

8.
THE SMUDGE.

I was never the kind of dad that was shy about tackling my share of the diaper changing duties, and I think I became quite adept at it.

On one particular morning, I found myself face to face with the kind of mess that every parent dreads. The poop containment properties of the diaper had completely failed, and there was "matter" everywhere. But this wasn't my first rodeo, so wielding baby wipes like a samurai warrior, I charged headlong into battle.

After ten minutes of very intense hand-to-butt combat, I declared victory, and began to put the child's onesy back on. Glancing down, I noticed a smudge of poop on the back of my left hand. It was hardly a concern in light of the toxic cleanup I had just performed, but as I reached for another wipe to remove the smudge, I noticed a second patch of poop on my right forearm.

Now I was mildly annoyed at my carelessness, so I headed to the bathroom sink to wash up to my elbows and be done with poop smudges.

After scrubbing thoroughly and drying, I glanced in the vanity mirror only to find yet another smudge of poop that was shaped like South America on my forehead. "What the. . . . ?."

Enough was enough. I stripped naked and put all my clothes and underwear into the garbage. I then took one of the most thorough showers I've ever taken in my life, washing every square inch twice.

"Well that takes care of that!" I said aloud, and headed for the fridge for a glass of iced tea.

As I raised the glass of freshly poured tea, I noticed on the glass, near the rim . . . . . a smudge of poop, and two more on the pitcher and the fridge door handle.

"Okay, you got me!" I said in a loud voice to whoever was running around with a bucket of poop, smudging things. But there was no one there . . . .  just the click, click of the dog’s toenails as he trotted in to see what the commotion was about . . . . . with poop smudges on his ear and tail. I was dumbfounded.

In the days that followed
, it spread like a virus. I found poop smudges on the carpet, the TV, the mailbox, the ceiling, and even on guys I work with, who began to resent my constant sniffing and inspecting their clothing. In fact, I'm not sure how it could be possible, but I calculated that if you were to add up the total volume of all poop smudges I had found, it would be significantly greater than the volume of the poopy diaper from which they originated.

It began to affect my sanity. Everything smelled like poop, and I saw smudges everywhere. I was having nightmares about giant poopy diapers chasing me because they wanted smear themselves all over my body. I was showering incessantly, and throwing away clothes at an alarming rate.

It's now been well over a decade since my kids have been potty trained, but I still can't shake the feeling like that one particular poopy diaper is still stalking me. I sniff things constantly for the smell of new smudges. If I notice that someone I'm talking to, is focusing their gaze on any particular part of my face or body, I instantly react, "What? . . .  WHAT? . . . . . Is it poop? . . . . . Where? . . . . . Do I smell like poop?"

I'm not sure what lesson there is to be learned here. Maybe it’s that you should be really careful not to get any poop on you during a diaper change. Or maybe, if you do end up with a smudge, you might be better off embracing it, rather than getting hung up on a little poop.

9.
THE HUGE BOOK OF HORRIFYING DISEASES

A while back, when my super nurse wife was going through nursing school, she came home with what I called “The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases”. This was a book that was about four inches thick and weighed around ten pounds. Within its pages, it described nearly every disease known to man, and included all the symptoms, and
had many large pictures of each disease.

One boring evening, out of morbid curiosity, I picked up the book and began to look through it. The images and descriptions of the diseases contained within the book, horrified me to my core. I played out in my head, the agonizing death that I imagined each fully illustrated disease would lead to. The images haunted me. It was then and there that I decided that I would start my disease vigil.

I developed a system by which, each night I would take the “Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases” into the bathroom, and with the aid of a hand held mirror (for those hard to see places) I would go through the entire collection of pictures and symptoms, comparing them to my respective body parts to make sure that the deadly clutches of disease weren’t sneaking up on me. And as with many of my good ideas, this left me open to the ridicule of my nurse wife.

One day, shortly after establishing my routine, I realized, on my way home from work, that I couldn’t hear out of my left ear. . . .
Something was wrong! I tried not to panic, but the long lists of symptoms mentioned in the “Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases” kept flashing through my mind.

When I arrived at home, I grabbed the book right out of my wife’s hands, and ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Feverishly, I scoured the pages to find what fate awaited me. But I could find no disease with the symptom of “sudden hearing loss in left ear”. . . . . Maybe I was the victim of an undiscovered disease!

I knew I needed medical attention, so without even telling my wife where I was going (who would probably make jokes), I rushed out the door, and drove myself to the emergency room.

Once in the E.R., I described to the doctor my symptom of hearing loss in my left ear, and how I could find no mention of such a symptom in the “Huge Book of
Horrifying Diseases”. With a raised eyebrow, and having checked of a few vital signs, he looked into my left ear with his lighted ear looking device.

“Hmmmm . . . . . . I see” he said.

“What is it Doc? AM I DYING?” I asked frightfully.

“Mmm . . . . . no, seems like you are suffering from a simple case of “Idiocy”, he replied while reaching into my ear with a pair of tweezers, and pulling out an ear plug that I had apparently forgotten to remove while at work.

A wave of relief swept over me, as well as a bit of embarrassment. I was also surprised that enough people had forgotten to take out an earplug at work that they had actually come up with a name for the condition. . . . .”Idiocy”.

Upon returning home, my wife demanded to know what all the panic had been about, and where I had run off to. I explained my sudden hearing loss, and that I thought I might be dying from an unknown disease. But that it had turned out to be a simple case of “Idiocy” (which I had to explain to “the nurse”
wife was the condition caused by accidently leaving an earplug in your ear). And again, I had to suffer her mocking remarks as I wandered up to bed.

After the big “Idiocy” scare, I decided to become even more pro-active with my disease vigil, and made an appointment with my doctor for a thorough checkup.

At the end of the appointment which seemed like hours of being poked and inspected, the doctor came in and told me that everything looked good. He also said that as a further precaution, I should get myself tested for any cancers or heart problems that appeared in my family history. This seemed logical to me, so wanting to leave nothing to chance, I decided to call my mom the next day to find out about our families health history.

The next day, I called and asked my mom if there was any health problems in the family that I should be concerned about. The only thing she could think of was my Aunt Sarah, who had cervical cancer in 1985. Once again, the now familiar horror began to sweep over me. . . . . I was going to die from cervical cancer!

Luckily, I now had my doctor’s office on my speed dial, so I was able to reach his receptionist within seconds of hanging up from the call with my mother. I explained the situation with Aunt Sarah’s cervical cancer, and how I needed to schedule an appointment to be tested for it immediately. There was a pause on the other end of the line followed by, “Are you telling me that you want to schedule yourself for a pap, sir?”

“If that’s what the name of the test for cervical cancer is called, then yes. . . . . I want a pap”

Again there was a long pause on the other end of the line, and what I thought might be the sound of someone laughing. Finally the doctor himself got on the phone and explained that I didn’t need to be tested for cervical cancer because I didn’t have a cervix.

Relieved once again, I thanked him for his time and hung up. My wife who had caught the tail end of the phone conversation asked me what the call had been about. Reluctantly, I explained about Aunt Sarah, and how the doctor had said I don’t need to be tested for cervical cancer because I don’t have a cervix, and that I assumed that my cervix must have been removed when I was a child, and he had seen it in my medical chart.

At this
point I had to stop talking because my wife was laughing hysterically. Disgusted, I grabbed the “Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases” and headed off to the bathroom with my mirror in hand.

I had had enough of the mockery. If my wife couldn’t be supportive of my disease detecting efforts, then I wouldn’t be supportive of her when she came down with some sort of necrosis or any of the other horrible diseases that were in her book. I wouldn’t help her a bit even if she came down with leprosy and all her limbs fell off . . . . . . I wouldn’t lift a finger . . . . . no pun intended.

10. OUR FAMILY JUSTICE SYSTEM

In our household there exists a justice system that parallels the system here in the United States in some ways, but also has many differences.

In our house you are not guaranteed a trial by a jury of your peers. In fact, any peers in the house will be instructed to go home before the trial begins.

There are two judges, a primary or day judge, and a secondary or evening judge.

You may be held without bail until a judge and trial is made available (“you can sit in your room until your father gets home”)

You may be tried and convicted more than once for the same crime, especially if the primary judge has found you guilty and handed down a sentence, but feels that you still do not seem repentant enough. She can then order a second trial when the evening judge gets home from work, after which, a second sentence may be added on to the first.

Or, if you are found not guilty by one of the judges, you still could be found guilty by the other judge based on new evidence, or simply due to the fact that the second judge had a bad day at work and wishes to take it out on the defendants

You WILL testify against yourself when instructed to do so by one of the judges.

Sometimes being a witness (tattler) can get you into worse trouble than being the one who committed the crime.

Sometimes, the primary judge has had enough, which she will indicate by loudly stating, “I have had enough!” She may then postpone a trial until the secondary judge gets home from work, but when the secondary judge gets home from work, and is met at the door by two sobbing defendants and a primary judge who has had enough, he isn’t sure what the primary judge is expecting of him, so he will then repeat in an authoritative voice, the words that the primary judge is silently mouthing from behind the two sobbing defendants.

And finally, your punishment WILL be cruel and unusual (no TV or IPad for a week, etc…)

11. I CAN’T DO THIS!

As I slowly inched closer and closer to the speaker box, at which I would place my order, I felt a drip of nervous perspiration roll off my forehead.

"Do you know what you want?” I asked my wife.

"I can't see the menu", was the reply.

I could have told you that this was going to be the answer. It is always the answer. And as usual,
I began thinking to myself, "How can she not know this fast food restaurant’s menu by now? Every American can quote the menus of nearly every burger chain in their area, some can even quote prices as well. Some of these menus are as old as time, penned by our forefathers shortly after the completion of The Declaration of Independence."

But I keep these thoughts to myself, because I have learned that to verbalize them only creates an episode, and prolongs the decision making process. I instead turn to my darling children and ask the same question. The answer came at me from two mouths simultaneously, making it impossible to determine who said what, but it sounded like this:

"I want a cheeseburger Fun Meal, I want a chicken nugget big kid meal, and the purple toy, with mustard sauce, no wait make it a blue toy, and root beer, but I don't want the same toy as her, I think I want nuggets instead, and ketchup, but I already have that toy, can we go to the taco place?"

As I try to comprehend the rat nest of words that had just come from the back seat, I pull the car forward. I
t is now my turn at the speaker. My palms are sweating and I'm having trouble breathing, for I know what is about to happen.

"I'll have the Quarter Pound with cheese
meal with a Coke and . . . . . . . . ."

I always say 'and' in a prolonged and exaggerated way, as an attempt to cue my wife to jump in with her order, but I am met only with silence as she studies the menu. I divert back to the kids, noticing that the little old lady behind me is beginning to look a little impatient.

"I also need two Fun Meals, one cheeseburger, and one chicken nugget, with blue and purple toys."

"NO, I want a red toy"

"What to drink with those, sir?"

"Lemonades and make it a red toy"

"I want a cheeseburger instead"

"I'm sorry sir, we are all out of red toys"

"Mustard sauce, dad, and I don't like lemonade."

“Make the nugget a cheeseburger, change the lemonade to a Coke and the red toy to a green toy."

"I want curly fries, dad"

"They don't have curly fries here, Natalie"

"I'm Hannah"

"What was that, sir?"

"I was just telling my kid that you don't have curly fries here."

". . . . We don't have curly fries here, sir."

"I know that, you idiot!"

“. . . . . . . Your total comes to . . . . . . ."

"WAIT! I'm not done", I say, turning to my wife. The little old lady behind me is now honking every ten seconds or so, and my right eye has begun to twitch a bit.

"Well? . . . . ." I ask, as my voice raises a notch in intensity.

"What did I get last time?" she asked in a tone that would suggest that she was in no hurry.

"I don't know, does it matter?"

"Can I get the Garden salad with chicken on it?"

"Can she get the Garden salad with chicken on it?"

"Yes but we will have to charge you more", answered the voice on the speaker.

"Ask
if I can trade the tomato for the chicken?"

"Can we trade the tomato for the chicken?"

"We'll still have to charge extra."

"Well then I don't want the garden salad, tell her I need another minute."

The little old lady behind me has gotten the whole drive through line honking, and has begun throwing what appears to be Rolaids at the back of my car as, two more minutes of menu studying pass.

"Just get me a Bacon Burger meal and a diet."

"Uh, I guess we'll have the Bacon Burger meal with a diet, and that's it."

Silence is coming from the speaker.

More silence is coming from the speaker.

"I'm sorry sir, but can you repeat your order?"

WHAT? REPEAT MY ORDER? I don't think that's possible! Sobbing, I look up to the heavens and plead, "Lord! Spare me this shame and take me now!"

I looked at my family. Their mouths were moving as they attempted to repeat their orders to me, but I couldn't hear any words, just the sound of my labored breathing and my heart beating like a drum. The little old lady behind me was getting out of her car and walking towards me. What if she has a gun in her purse?

The speaker box was getting louder and louder, "SIR? DID YOU HEAR ME? COULD YOU REPEAT YOUR ORDER? . . . SIR? . . . SIR?"

I turned to my wife and pitifully stated,” I . . . I can't do this"

With smoke rolling off of the tires, I peeled out of the drive through line, bounced over the curb, across the lawn and back onto the street.

Once home, I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
for all, despite the wailing protests, and an unrelenting dirty look from my wife. A new rule was also proclaimed as we all enjoyed our sandwiches, and that is that NO fast food trips will be made until ALL car occupants have decided and written down their orders.