There is a battle going on at my house. It’s waged in our living room every night. In this epic struggle – which pits my husband against our two kids – I am thrilled to say that I am a happy bystander. It’s like watching gladiators duke it out on the coliseum floor – I observe, comment occasionally, but generally am just highly entertained by the whole commotion. Once in a while I signal who won with a thumbs up or thumbs down.
But really, one dad versus two toddlers? He doesn’t stand a chance.
The war is over territory. Specifically, who owns the living room. Siig wants to be able to relax and watch TV in peace and quiet. The kids, on the other hand, being kids, want to play and be loud and run everywhere and yell and scream. Siig feels the kids should go downstairs to the playroom to play, that being what the “playroom” is for. What he doesn’t understand is that the children want to be near us. If he wants them in another room, he’d have to get off the couch and walk downstairs. Which would defeat the purpose of his definition of “relaxing.”
As for me, I don’t care so much about watching TV (unless, of course, “So You Think You Can Dance” or “The Amazing Race” is on) and have anyways long since given up control of the clicker. Plus, I am usually too busy making dinner or cleaning up the kitchen. As long as no one is crying or bleeding, and I’m not on the phone (which is a guarantee that your kids will be at their most obnoxious), I usually don’t care if the kids are being loud.
This puts me in an awkward position. I feel I need to side with Siig, being my husband and fellow adult, but really the whole thing just makes me want to laugh. And giggling when your husband is angry is not a good thing for a husband-wife relationship.
The reason I laugh is because the whole situation is comical. The kids can only stay quiet for about two minutes, Siig gets more and more angry, threatens to take them to their rooms, swears he’s going to move the TV to our bedroom, but in actuality does nothing, and the process starts over again. Basically, Siig turns into a 5-year old and instead of two kids screaming and yelling, it turns into three. And then I am the only adult left in the room.
Do you think they served cocktails to those toga-clad spectators cheering on the gladiators? Because with three kids fighting, I’m going to need one.