My kids are ruining my furniture. And it must be a genetic boy thing because they were never (NEVER) allowed to do those things that other kids did. Like walk on the couch or jump on the bed. After they were born, I can vividly remember this, my sister told me, "DON'T let them walk on the couch. They will NEVER STOP!" Not that I'm blaming her for becoming a furniture-nazi, that was inevitable. You throw enough neurosis into one individual and certain idiosyncrasies are gonna pop out. That's just science.
And anyhow, I'm pretty sure all old wives tales arose in just that same way. Some moron let her toddler go swimming with the crocodiles and bam, no more toddler. Then she ran around the village screaming "Oh my god, she had just eaten lunch! Don't let your kid go in the river right after they've eaten!! THEY'LL DIE!" And the smart ladies were too polite to say, "Jesus, Gladys, you're such an idiot" and everyone else raised generations of kids who weren't allowed in the pool until 20 minutes after they'd eaten. That's how it happens. Except the furniture stuff is true. They will never stop jumping on the bed. And I have the broken bed slats to prove it.
So these two boys were raised by a furniture-nazi, but they are still ruining my furniture. They rock on the kitchen stools. They constantly rock on the stools and the legs are starting to come apart. I've told them so many times that the legs are going to break that I don't say anything anymore. I just watch them, hoping that this will be the time that legs give up the ghost and the kid will come crashing down onto the hardwood floor. I really want to be there when it happens. And it's gonna happen, the physics are indisputable. But I have to be there when it finally does so I can stare down at them and say, "SEE!!!" And I know this is not one of my better child-rearing traits, but I just can't fucking take it anymore.
They lean back on the kitchen chairs. They wrestle on the papasan chair. (And let me tell you, that thing, while fun and kitschy and only $199 at Pier One, was not built to last.) I have these little leather side chairs with permanent indentations on the arms from being used as pummel horses. And my couch, my poor couch. They wrestle on it and squat on it and sit on the arms. It's only 2 years old and it looks 30. And you can't laugh it off with a "oh, they're laugh lines". They're not laugh lines, they're destroyed cushions because they're found a way to sit on the back cushion instead of the bottom cushion. <fuckkkkkk>
Well, last night I reached an all time low when I shouted, "Is it not enough that you ruined my uterus, can't you leave my couch alone?!?!?!"
No comments:
Post a Comment