Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Why Must Children Be So Childish?

By Bob Wire, 2-16-10

	"What a beautiful baby! But I must warn you, one day she'll grow up to be a kid."

“Wash up, kids, your breakfast is ready.” I stood in the kitchen Monday morning, pushing scrambled eggs and fried potatoes from the frying pan onto the kids’ plates. I poured them a glass of juice, and set a napkin next to each place setting. “I sure miss your mom,” I said.

Rusty and speaker sat down and immediately started wolfing down the food. “Are you making pancakes?” Speaker asked.

“No.”

She gave Rusty a look. “I miss her too,” she said around a mouthful of eggs.

Welcome to Single Dad Week.

I’ve said many times that being a single parent is the hardest job in the world. And it’s even harder when you’re not trying to be good at it. Barb is out of town. Barb has gone out of town before, of course, much more frequently than I do. Between visits with her family and occasional business trips, she’s typically gone for 2-3 weeks a year. Every time she leaves, I implore the kids to try and help me out around the house. “Your mom’s gone, that means I have to do it all, you guys. I need you to step it up.” Every time, they do not. They’re not any more self-centered or hedonistic than most other kids, it’s just that kids in general are just naturally childish.

Oh, they’ll reluctantly perform whatever task I give them, but I usually have to stay on them and repeat the instructions many times or they will drift off to the computer, the TV, or whatever electronic device that currently is more important to them than oxygen. Barb’s way of handling this is just to do the task herself, which is easier than sustaining the level of nag it takes to motivate a pre-teen and an adolescent. I think that’s the wrong approach, and it’s probably the reason that she’s so buried at work.

I probably shouldn’t even be writing this now, because she’s been gone for eight days now and I’m descending into a pretty black mood. I’m sick of providing all the meals, doing all the cleaning, washing all the clothes, and delivering the kids to their endless appointments, lessons, social engagements and everything else without so much as a “thanks, Dad.” I’m tired of dropping whatever I’m doing to go look at some pointless item of momentary interest, or a silly video clip on YouTube.

“I don’t have any clean pants,” Rusty will say as he walks past me, not bothering to look up from his iPod. I ask him if he’s brought his hamper into the laundry room, and he looks at me like I’ve just asked him if he would rotate the tires on the Subaru. I know he’s 13 and he’s supposed to start acting like a prick now, but I expect more from this kid. And when his mom’s out of town, I expect a LOT more.

But I don’t get more. Lacking common sense, logic, and any consideration outside their immediate sphere, my offspring continue to litter the house with empty yogurt cups, dirty socks, random game pieces, crumbs and scraps from impulsive art projects, pieces of cereal that have been stepped on and crushed to powder, discarded clothing, shoes, hats, jackets and gloves, empty juice bags, books, and all the detritus of their lives that they know mom and dad will eventually pick up and put away for them.

Did you enjoy the recent three day weekend? I did not. With the exception of a ski/snowboard session at Discovery on Saturday, I spent three days trying to get the kids to socialize with their friends or find something to do other than create a trail of refuse for me to collect. They do not replace the toilet paper. They will not close the shower curtain. They will not put away the milk. They will not put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher, even though I have showed them several times how to do it. I feel like a maid at the Hotel Nickelodeon.

Don’t get be wrong, I love my kids more than anything. They are my pride and joy, a precious gift of life, blah blah blah. It’s just that it’s been a long week, and Daddy needs a break. Actually, it could have been worse. There have been no meltdowns, no tirades, no tantrums, and no domestic disasters. Unless you count the moment I pulled into the garage from our ski trip Saturday, forgetting that I had the Thule box on top of the 4Runner. That sure woke the kids up.

Am I afraid this blog will make Barb feel bad? No. She rarely reads it. Besides, when she comes home I’ll be so glad to see her that my mood will be like the sun breaking out from behind a huge, dark cloud. My single-parenting shift will be over, and we can get back to eating her delicious cooking instead of food that is baked on a cookie sheet for 15-17 minutes at 425°. Our family tends to limp along like a broken-down jalopy when Barb’s not here, and sleeping alone isn’t making me any jollier. We need her. We miss her.

I’ll still be doing a lot of the laundry and cooking and cleaning after she’s home, but at least I’ll hear “thank you” once in a while. Oh yeah, and Father’s Day is next Sunday.

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By Bob Wire, 2-16-10 | comments (7) | email story | print story