At what point during my boy’s life is he going to not need to be told things 3,428 times before he actually freakin’ does it? I’m just wondering?
Saturday, I told the boy to go get socks. Four minutes later, as I’m running around getting stuff together to leave, I realize he’s still upstairs. So I go check and he’s lying on his bed reading a fucking book!
“Grayson! Dude! That’s awesome you’re reading a book, but…get…your….socks…on!”
Shocked that I would be rattled by this, he says, “I am daddy, I just needed to check something!”
He appears five minutes later with his socks…in his damn hands and stands in the living room doing nothing. A small drip of drool appears on his lower lip as he’s looking out the window into nothingness. Apparently he has become a dog who only knows how to receive and accomplish one command at a time.
“Seriously Grayson? I mean seriously? You know we’re trying to leave to go into the city. You know all that is required in order for you to walk outside in a foot of snow and 10-degree weather, but yet, you need me to walk you through it step-by-step.”
As soon as I finish that last word, he turns and looks at me and says, “Hey daddy, you know on Wii, on Mario, on World 6 when you’re fighting Bowser. His hat is weird!”
I just had to sit down after that. In what freakin’ world does this kid live? Mario’s World I guess.
Can I please have a huge dose of whatever the hell he’s got running through him to where he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the time continuum?
“Focus Danielson!!!!” I yell. This has become his least favorite phrase from me.
“Stop calling me Danielson daddy!!”
“Then put your socks on, then your boots, then your hat, gloves and coat and come…on!!!”
Every time we leave to go somewhere or to get ready for bed, we deal with this. And it’s leaking into my everyday life.
I’ll catch myself telling wifey we should go ahead and go to the store, “so please go get your socks, your shoes, your gloves, your hat, your coat, put on those jeans that shows-off your ass so I can watch you as you walk in front of me. And please take that damn Snuggie off so you don’t end up on some random website for wearing it to the store, and consider having sex with me tonight. Now! Hurry!”
Maybe I take the “I’m only going to tell you this once” approach and if we spend the day waiting on the boy to get his socks, then so be it. Or maybe I need to make a chart? Shit…I’m going to need a chart aren’t I—a hardcore Supernanny Jo Frost-style chart complete with jars of reward stickers, high fives, and hugs. Or maybe I’ll just super glue them to his feet.
Or, maybe I’ll just chalk it up to the fact the boy’s head is constantly swimming with new information and is going a million miles an hour thinking about Mario, snow forts, biking, hating his sister, and whether or not his experiment in the freezer is done yet.
Maybe I should just go on Xanax.