There are a zillion reasons I married my wife. She’s funny, smart, attractive, fiery, stubborn, a heck of a dancer. Athletic? Eh, not so much. Oh, she’ll argue that you don’t just get named “Most Valuable Defensive Player” on your high school basketball team if you don’t have at least a little hand-eye coordination but to that I have two counters:
The other day my wife was home by herself watching our son. Normally this is the preferred option, as it maximizes the boy’s chances of living until the next day. But in this particular instance, with me out of the house, things got a little out of control.
To summarize: At some point during the course of play the two of them made their way into the living room where VOILA! my son happened upon the toy of the year, our TV remote sitting on the coffee table.
Now before I go any further let me just say that my wife is a better parent than I am in every single imaginable category, except discipline and making fake bodily noises. (My forte being the second, obviously.)
Anyway, instead of taking said remote control away from the little troublemaker, she instead laughed and watched as he pushed every single button on it because apparently she’s never seen a small person operate a digital device. Fast forward to the next evening, my son having been just put to bed and the house finally quiet. I sit down to turn on the TV and watch something I’ve DVR’ed when all of a sudden I stop, do a double take in order to process what I was looking at, and then call my wife into the room to ask her a question. Our conversation goes something like this:
ME: “Any chance River was playing with the remote yesterday?”
MY WIFE: (Laughs) “How did you know?”
ME: (Pointing at TV screen.) There, in my DVR queue, in giant letters right below “House Hunters International” and “Sesame Street” is “Bootyclappin’ Superfreaks 5.” (Yep. Not “BS4” or even “BS3,” which the critics said was “Alexxxi Buttz finest work to date.”)
Naturally, my wife gasped in horror. Naturally, I started dying laughing and took a picture of the TV screen with my phone and texted it to every guy I know. (Most common reply: “Suuuure your son did that.”)
Given a few days to reflect on the entire situation I’ve finally come to the conclusion that while not the proudest moment in my parenting career, it could have been WAY worse. I mean yes, my 2-year-old son ordered Pay-Per-View porn with his mother in the room (in her defense she wasn’t paying attention to the TV screen because she was trying to help him start his chainsaw), but at least he didn’t buy something like “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.”
Because I’ve already seen that, like, 25 times. v