The Kids' Stuff

When we first moved into our house we immediately decided to give the kids the basement as “their space.”

We high-fived, renovated, threw shelves and cool shit down there, popped-in a couple space heaters, and dreamed the high-life dream of kids playing gleefully in the basement while we sipped wine, watched adult shows and chased each other around the house with sex toys.

Ok…that last part was only in my high-life dream…but regardless, we dreamt.

Then reality hit.

The girl….loves playing by herself. Dollies, house, school, and her favorite game “my brother’s evil and let’s plot to kill him.”

The boy? Well, he basically hates to be alone. NEVER wants to play alone, and ALWAYS wants to be involved in anything happening within a 50-yard radius.

So throwing him in the basement to play army, Legos, or whatever little dudes do these days is NEVER going to happen. He won’t do it.

Then, to make matters worse, we had a tween come visit us this summer from North Carolina. Basements are a rare thing in the south so when she was confronted with our decked-out underground awesomeness, all she saw was a dark, cold, dungeon of terror.

And she made it known. She refused to go down there unless all the lights were on and an adult was with her.

Ever since then…our kids feel the same way.

As a result, the adult space has become romper-room. Dollies, stuffed animals, plastic frogs and insects, Play-Doh, and little itty-bitty microscopic toys that can only be found by stepping on them with your bare feet at 4 a.m. have now entered into the adult “love palace.”

The daughter wins the biggest prize for being the most obnoxious about it. She brings arm-loads at a time of stuffed animals, dolly houses, and hooker boots to “our” area.

So, I guess the purpose of this post is to say, I miss you adult space.

I miss the gap in time when the Mrs. and I could have spontaneous sex once a year, throwing clothes to and fro without them landing on a fake full-sized cat causing it to meow and purr.

I miss watching watching “Cops” and yelling “get the fucker!!!!” without little ears and eyes being present.

I miss coming home from work and seeing a clean, relaxed space child-free of Barbie houses and army men.

But I know it’s a phase. And…I focus on the positive. Maybe now is the time I put the pool table and bar in the basement and shove all the kids’ shit into their rooms?

I mean…they do have light up there…& a boogie man’s never been sighted there! At least not yet…



The Wife & I Discuss Sex Toys

A month ago I got a Twitter direct message (DM) from the loverly @maniacalmom saying she was headed to Vegas, “send me your mailing address and I’ll send you a care package when I get back.”

Truth be told, I get random DMs on Twitter once in a blue moon but nothing like that. While I love my girl and her blog, I didn’t really know what to do with that DM or how to respond, so I just didn’t.

Two weeks later she sends another DM saying “I’m back – send me your address and I’ll send your care package.”

“Ummm….I’m a bit scared. Are you going to show up, throw me in a well, tell me ‘it rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again’ and then wear me?” I politely asked?

Then I get her virtual business information which looked legit and I folded…I sent my address and today we got the package!!

Wife: “Wow…now who the hell is this woman again?,” she asks as she looks at the package contents strewn across the table while keeping a constant eye on the stairs for any prying eyes from the little nippers.

Me: “She’s that lady on Twitter who said she wanted to send us some gifts after her…”

Wife: “What the hell is this?”

Me: “I can’t tell from the plastic, but it looks like it’s shaped perfectly to fit around my…”

Wife: “And is that a dolphin?!”

Me: “That my dear, is AWESOME! It looks like a hollowed out dolphin thingy that totally hides this little vibrator thingy so the kids have no idea it’s a magical mystery tool designed to send mommy’s eyes rolling in the back of her head!!”

Wife: “What? Why are you bringing the kids into this? You’re sick.”

Me: “No…I just immediately thought if the kids found it they’d think, ‘oh cool, a vibrating dolphin with seven different settings—awesome!’ and we wouldn’t freak out as bad if we saw them accidentally playing with it in the bathtub or something.”

Wife: “Well, what are you going to do with your man-tube thing?”

Me: “You mean, Jennifer?”

Wife: “Holy shit you just opened it from the package and you already gave ‘it’ a name?”

Me: “Ssshhh…she’s sensitive. Look at her bumps and goodness. She exists to make us happy.”

Wife: “To make YOU happy? Poor Jennifery, she has no clue what she’s in for.”

And I thought about it…the wife’s right. If I come on too strong I’d hate to think what would happen. I’d go looking for her in my favorite drawer and she wouldn’t be there. The wife would be laying on the couch and feel a tug on her Snuggie sleeve. And to her dismay she’d see Jennifer…

Wife: “Oh my god what’s wrong Jennifer? Why are you crying?”

Jennifer: “He won’t leave me the fuck alone! Not even for a second!”

Wife: “Oh no!!! He’s following you around the house, rubbing against you and accidentally picking up imaginary things in front of you in the hopes you’ll look at his ass isn’t he?”

Jennifer: “Can you hide me under your blankets and let me watch CSI with you and just hold me for a while.”

Wife: “Come on girlfriend…hop in. Mommy’s got you.”

I’ve totally got to play this one cool. I can’t lose Jennifer the way I lost the wifey to her Snuggie and the couch...