As many of you know when you have kids, colds are contagious. Your kid gets a cold, then you get it, then your spouse, and so on and so on – the house is infested with germs. There is not a germ that doesn’t latch itself to my little guys. I’m seriously thinking about making my own antibiotics in the bath tub, why not right? Anyways, surprise-surprise my wife had to take my eldest guy Travis to the doctor last night. It was just me and my wee-man Rory. Being the responsible father that I am, I thought we should probably eat. Studies show you should do that at least three times a day. So, if we were going to eat, we were going to eat like a King, as in Larry King. Rory and I like to chow-down wearing suspenders for some reason.
I hit up the kitchen and started pulling out chicken, broccoli, lettuce, potatoes, onions, and any other food I knew he was never going to eat. I even grabbed some spices, rubs, tongs and most importantly a lighter; my two year old and I were going to BBQ. As I put the chicken on and head inside to work on the veggies, I noticed he had locked me out.
Ha-ha very funny, we shared a laugh. Then I gently knocked on the door and asked him to “let daddy back in.” I had a better chance of my hair growing back then him unlatching that door. This was turning into a game for him the more I begged. He was doing exactly what I’m sure his mother has wanted to do for years. Not only was he not letting me back in, he was making himself comfortable. At one point he went to the couch, kicked back and flipped on Dr. Phil. After a few minutes I thought ok, no problem, I’ll just walk around to the front, and as you can imagine, like any bad sitcom, the front door was locked.
I wasn’t panicked but admittedly, I was starting to get concerned. I thought I may have to play my wildcard. That’s right, the promise of a rice-crispy square. I came up snake eyes once again! I promised him a new soother, another sandbox and in desperation, a car; nothing. At least I had sustenance; the chicken breast would last me 2 or 3 days, and the beer, I could make that last 4 minutes.
My only other thought was my phone, which luckily is always attached at my hip. I thought to myself “is it better to call my wife or the cops?” Cops for sure right? Heck I think I’d even smash in a window before calling my wife. I would never live this one down; outsmarted by a two year old.
Fortunately, after a few minutes, which felt like a few hours, the little guy got bored with toying with me and let me back in. Needless to say, after reading this blog, my wife will now know about this mishap. Did you enjoy the chicken last night sweetie pie, the love of my life?
On a side note: Why we dress our youngest like he’s an extra on The Golden Girls? Not sure, but there ya go!