Do you remember that scene in Poltergeist where the mom is trying to get to her kids to save them from the TV ghosts but the hallway keeps getting longer and longer and she can’t get to the bedroom door and you, as the viewer, end up having a panic attack? That’s what the pile of dirty clothes is like in my utility room.
Then there’s the constant battle of the front seat. If I hear the word “shotgun” again and no one is waving an actual shotgun? I’m going to lose my mind.
The fighting over who gets to use the shower first, or the incessant one-upping, or the nightly “Mom, Ethan came in my room and farted!” is…is…too much.
I used to be so pretty.
But like everything else in life, I somehow always seem to persevere. I’m one of those progressive types for crying out loud! And as a progressive woman I’ve learned one thing: Bob and weave.
Bob and weave is what you do to survive the battlefield known as parenthood. You keep your head down low, don’t make eye contact, and keep your eye on the prize. The prize being that one day they will all move out and you can fart in all the rooms without anyone telling on you for it.
And everyone knows that nothing says successful parenting like Television Programming Management (or TPM, for short).
Look, I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting and listening to fighting and I just want to watch Duck Dynasty in peace! Is that too much to ask?
Sometimes I start out watching my favorite guilty pleasure in the living room because the kids are upstairs. Then something happens. I don’t know…they get hungry, or decide it’s time to play video games, or perhaps they just want to ruin what little happiness I have left…but they storm into the room where I am currently and demand things.
That’s usually when I hit the pause button, sigh too loudly (it’s probably classified as more of a groan or a grumble than a sigh), and sneak up the stairs to my bedroom. See? Bob and weave.
Thank goodness for technology that allows me to start a show in one room and finish it in another. You have no idea how this has literally saved my life. Yes, literally.
Look, when you live with animals who disguise themselves as reasonable humans with opposable thumbs (and sometimes not very convincingly) you do what you can to survive. And if that means celebrating the little things like watching television in peace, then so be it.