Working From Home Makes Me Stabby

For years I used to be envious of those who work from home.

I used to imagine them waking at 8:59 a.m., hair in Einstein mode as they walked down stairs to log onto the computer.

No lines to the coffee maker or having to fake interest as that annoying co-worker shows you 231 freshly printed pictures of their 4-year-old kid’s birthday party the day before.

The joy of being able to stroll upstairs and relax for the morning bathroom break without worrying about Bob sitting down in the stall next to you and blowing a hole in the back of the toilet.

Well let me be the first to tell you it’s not so grand.

You don’t believe me do you? Fine!

Here’s a few highlights of how my day went yesterday.

Let me first set the stage. We have a dog (it’s my wife’s, I don’t claim it), a cat, a daughter who attends half-day kindergarten, a neighbor’s kid that hangs out during the day (which is cool…he’s a good dude), and my wife also works from home four days out of the week, part-time.

6:45 – 7:55 a.m. – Alarm goes off. I wake the boy, make his lunch, feed him, tell him 157 times to take a bite of cereal, and then drop him off at school.

8:14 a.m. – Go to the grocery because we have no bread, milk, or cat food.

8:40 a.m. – Log into work.

8:42 a.m. – Let the dog outside because he rang his bell by the door which means he wants out.

8:44 a.m. – Let the dog back inside because he’s barking…..at nothing.

9:32 a.m. – Step outside to take a call from the boss because my daughter’s screaming because she doesn’t want to wear the shirt her mother’s telling her to wear.

10:02 a.m. – Tear-ass down the street after my wife’s dog which my daughter let out of the front door.

10:24 a.m. – Go to the bathroom.

10:26 a.m. – Stand up from the bathroom before finishing because the neighbor’s kid is jumping up and down outside the door screaming “I’m gonna have an accident Justin!!! Hurry!!!”

10:36 a.m. – The dog rings his bell to be let outside.

10:37 a.m. – Let the dog back in because he’s barking at the wind.

11:00 a.m. – Step in cat puke filled with pieces of our indoor plants he’s eating.

11:11 a.m. – Lose Internet connection because the wife decided to rearrange her desk and unplug the Wi-Fi without warning me.

11:34 a.m. – Apologize to the other professionals on the conference call I’m on because my daughter just walked in the door and screamed “Macy’s in the house!!!!!”

11:45 a.m. – Take daughter to school.

12:05 p.m. – Shun the dog for chewing a hole through my wife’s sandals while I was out taking the daughter to school.

12:30 p.m. – Ask the wife if she’s up for a little afternoon “action.”

12:31 p.m. – Go back to my desk excited because the wife said “not today” which means maybe tomorrow!!

12:46 p.m. – Run to the front window because the high-school drop-out drug dealing 16-year-old kid is fighting with his girlfriend on his front lawn again.

12:58 p.m. – Yell down to the wife that he dog just peed on kitchen rug….again.

1:09 p.m. – Strongly consider buying a bottle of Jack and killing it.

And it goes on…..There’s four more hours of this.

I’m seriously considering making the local coffee shop my new office. Although I’m so damn ADD I’d spend the entire day people-watching and being distracted by bright shiny things.

So maybe I’ll visit the dog-pound instead.



Yeah…We Got A Dog

The day started like any other day. We woke up late and a tad hung-over from the previous night’s party with friends.

We ate breakfast and broke-up 13.6 fights between the kids.

I wrote a love note to the wife.

Then we decided to go to my wife’s second home, Ikea, to look at lofts for the boy’s room since he needs desk space.

After a couple hours of crying and listening to the boy say, “Oh, I want that bed, and that desk, and can I get a chair that wheels around, and I could put my trophies on my desk and move them when it’s time to do homework, and please daddy, please mommy?!”

But unfortunately we left without the purchase.

Then I made the mistake of a lifetime. Feeling bad that we got the kid all hyped-up and let him down, I whipped into the pet store right next to Ikea so we could let him pet hamsters and look at fish.

Twenty minutes later I find myself in a small “petting room” waiting for a dude that works there to bring us a puppy to play with.

Twenty more minutes later my wife, son, and daughter are literally clasping their hands together as if in group prayer and begging me to let them take the doggie home forever.

I gave it a good fight, I really did. But I lost and I lost hard.

When we first moved to Chicago three years ago we got a damn cat. Jasper.

Almost two years ago we got each of the kids a fish. Then one died. So we got another.

Then a few months ago the boy “had to have” a hamster. When I wasn’t looking the wife bought the little bastard a hamster.

Now...a Cavalier King Charles dog named Marty.

But, I’m going to look at the positive side of this. I’m going to focus on the many things young Marty and I have in common.

• If he’s not bathed regularly he stinks and leaves his musky scent all over the furniture. I do too…
• Currently the cat’s scared out of his mind, so one could say he scares pussy away. I do too…
• He was bred and we have his thorough pedigree chart. I guess in a way I was too…
• This furry bastard loves to have his belly rubbed nonstop. The dog does too…
• I’m going out on a limb and saying I’m pretty sure the dog doesn’t like to wear pants. We all know my feelings on those devil leg covers.
• And, I’m not going to lie, if you throw a ball near me I’m definitely going to go for it and bring it right back to you.

Now, if only I could figure out how to make my ass wag like a dog’s tail and have my wife whistle at me and talk to me like I’m 8 months old.



Alcohol Filled Grenades

Remember those days when you used to be able to pour a beer or glass of wine or both, and leave them sitting on the counter or coffee table and they would be there when you got back?

Since the infestation of children in our lives, alcoholic beverages have been like grenades throughout the house.

You place them down and walking away is like pulling the pin. You have just seconds before it’s knocked over, shattered, kicked, or used because, “my horsey wanted some water.”

And literally making matters worse…my damn cat is obsessed with knocking over full glasses of liquid.

I have a mental list of areas throughout the house that are not only out of the reach of the kids, but tight enough that my fat-ass cat has no chance in cat-hell to get anywhere near it.

Those spots are almost as precious as those along the wooden steps in our house that don’t creak in the early morning when the children are on the brink of cock-blocking a solid hour of silence, coffee, and the newspaper.

The trouble is always remembering if I’d finished that beer or placed it in one of my sacred kid-free places.

If it’s a particular late night with friends I’ll spend a good half-hour on a scavenger hunt searching for half-full beers or overflowing glasses of wine. Somewhere in the middle I’d ultimately get completely turned around checking and re-checking spots.

Eventually, our guests will find me in the fetal position, sucking my thumb, crying and carving messages into the wall with my jagged thumbnail.

But I guess everything in the house suffers the same possible destruction.

When I was dating the wifey in high school I was notorious for breaking lamps, vases and chairs in her mom’s house. Clumsy, no self control and stupidity were the main culprits.

So who am I to judge the nippers for being who they are and just flat out flailing around the house in the midst of a giggle-filled tickle rages and taking down beers, wine and lamps in their wake?

Maybe I should just attach flashing beacons to my beers. That way I’d always know where I left them.

Either that or I’d spend way too much time having seizures.

Family Discussion: A Furry Little Shit

I came home yesterday to all hell breaking loose at the house.

Son: “But mommy I really really want one!”

Wife: “I know you do Grayson. We will probably get you one, so relax.”

Daughter: “Well if Grayson gets an animal I want a cat and I’ll keep it in my room and it’ll be all mine.”

Wife: “You can’t keep a cat in your little room all the time Macy.”

Daughter: “But MOOOMMMYYYY, Grayson gets to keep a hamster in his room, why can’t I keep a cat in mine?”

That’s when it all clicked in my head what was happening.

Me: “Whoa whoa whoa!! No one’s getting any animals. We have a cat and that’s plenty!!”

And then the water works started, followed by high pitched whining flavored with hardcore disappointment.

My son’s best buddy at school has a hamster. So naturally my son HAS to have one. And somehow, when I was away from the house for more than five minutes yesterday, my wife’s ability to slam any thoughts that another furry beast might enter this home permanently became weak. Our kids were breaking her quickly.

Me: “Grayson, what is it you want to get?”

Son: “Oh…daddy, it’s a teddy bear hamster. It’s really furry and really cute and it has long fuzzy hair all over it and I want it so badly daddy. I will take such good care of it and will name it Ted.”

Daughter: “And if Grayson gets a hamster mommy said I could buy two new Zhu Zhu pets!”

This is the point where I look at the wife with a “what in the holy hell are you thinking woman” look on my face.

Wife: “Don’t look at me like that. I pretty much promised Grayson he could have one.”

Me: “But we already have cat shit to clean up. We have a fish in the boy’s room that refuses to die. And now we’re gonna have a small animal that needs it’s wood shred thingies changed, food, water and the boy’s gonna let it get lose at least once and the cat will try to eat it and I’m already freakin’ exhausted….”

Wife: “Pipe-down childhood ruiner and quit over exaggerating. I had two as a kid and loved it. Let the boy have this.”

Me: “Whatever… I’m gonna need you to sign this document nullifying any and all involvement I might have in handling, touching, cleaning, observing, chasing, smelling, acknowledging, petting, and  any other word ending in “ing” that might involve Bob crossing paths with my daily life.”

Wife: “His name’s Ted idiot-boy. Get it right.”



Wifey & I Discuss Olympic Curling

I’ve been waiting for Curling to come on TV so I could let the kids see this glorified old-folks game of shuffleboard on ice. Secretly I also want to see the women wearing short skirts, squatting, and yelling passionately at each other…oh shit, did I say that out loud?

Anyway, so it comes on and I’m all, “sweet…kids come check this out.” The family gathers and we settle in to watch some Olympic goodness when all hell breaks loose:

Wifey: “Why are they brushing in front of that stone thingy?”

Me: “You know you’re the reason our daughter talks like Sarah Palin and ends all her words with “y.”

Wifey: “Is it some kind of static electricity thing that helps the stone?”

Me: “Who, Sarah Palin?”

Wifey: “Yes, moron…I’m asking you if Sarah Palin uses static electricity to move the stone thingy along the ice.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but how do you get static electricity on ice? And how would that help the stone move on ice? You think this is the Olympic version of the Hairy Gary game?”

Wifey: “I don’t know…I was just asking.”

Me: “It’s a brush that smoothes the ice out so the stone thingy goes further…SEE!!! Now you’ve got me talking like thaty withy the “y”eee.

Wifey: “And why are they yelling at each other?”

Me: “The Denmark women-folk are telling the American women-folk their douchebags, suck at this sport, and are going to dry hump their brothers. Curling is a big shit-talkers’ sport.” (the kids had left the room by this point out of sheer boredom.)

Wifey: “You seriously have so many issues it’s ridiculous. Why can’t we talk like a normal couple?”

Me: “Oh…I have issues. You’re the one that thinks those magical brooms they’re holding weld super static electric powers that allow the stone thingy to go where they want.”

Wifey: “You said “thingy” again.”

Me: “SHIT!”

Wifey: “I could totally do this sport.”

Me: “Oh, I have no doubt. Hell, just last night you were crouched down in the kitchen while holding a broom, pointing and screaming, ‘really!!! I JUST swept and already there’s pieces of crackers, cat hair, and a grape on the floor!’”

Wifey: “I’ve got good aim, and it would be one hell of a leg workout.”

Me: “You know what else would be one hell of a leg workout?”

Wifey: “You walking up the stairs backwards so I can watch TV in peace?”

Me: “You wanna have sex don’t you?”

Wifey: “No…and will you promise me something? Promise me you didn’t get that breath from eating out of the cat box?”

Me: “Rawr…feeling feisty aren’t you? I’m gonna go brush my teeth, slip out of something comfortable and get ready for your sexiness to join me.”

Wifey: “You do that slugger. I’ll be right there…”

Me: “Don’t forget to put on that sexy thingy I like.”

Wifey: “You said ‘thingy’ again.”

Me: “SHIT!”