My frustration and difficulty with G boiled over this week.   Every relationship has its ups and downs; this would be a down phase.

G has been hanging out with the new girl next door Alex, who is about a year older.   They are mostly compatible and seem really good for each other.   They keep each other busy and mostly don’t bother me.   As long as I ignore their little spats, which occur about every 7 minutes, and last about as long as it takes for G to come crying to me or Alex to declare she is going home, and for me to subsequently tell them both to eff off and and either make up or stop playing together.   Amazing how that solves the problem.   Alex’s parents are really nice people, and they and Beckie have quickly fallen into taking turns watching the kids and giving them snacks etc etc.   For me this is all new and challenging terrain.

Joey, have you ever been in a Turkish prison?

Last weekend our neighbors’ brother was watching Alex.   He was just as happy about them entertaining each other as we were, and volunteered to take them to the park.     Glen and Phong got to go hiking, Beckie got to hit the gym, I only had to deal with Alana…perfect!   Except somebody…I won’t say who…but somebody decided they needed to potty after they were at the park about 5 minutes.   Poor Uncle Rich slunk back to the cul-de-sac overwhelmed, and it suddenly became my turn to deal with G on one potty and Alex on another, and *everyone* now looking at me to take a turn at the park.   This daisy-chained Alana and Kila into the mob as well.

An angry mob it was.

I’ve been trying to not back down from challenges with my girls.   What’s the point?   If I don’t deal with them Beckie will have to.   I learned there is a vast yawning void between a good attitude and genuinely enjoying children, but a tiny little sliver between a good attitude and outright stupidity.   You can ride Holbert and break the danger down into moments where each risk can be compartmentalized, and you can always get off your bike and walk; it doesn’t work this way bringing 4 needy mammals to the park. The nearly 10 minutes and 4 separate tantrums loading the car should have clued me in: Alana crying, G bitching about her tricycle, Alex bitching about her scooter, though to be fair to Kila she only was upset that her window wasn’t rolled down and kept her piehole shut.

Every woman I talked to pre-Alana gushed about how 2 was easier than 1; every man without exception told me vaya con dios your life as you know it is now going 9.8 directly into the shitter.   I knew it would get uglier, but I had no idea how bad.   Those chicks were all fucking crazy, pumped so full of estrogen they couldn’t think straight. Two kids feed each other’s complaints, trampolining topics of neediness back and forth across my eardrums.   Add another kid at a different stage like Alana, and its disaster movie material.

The life of everyone on board depends upon just one thing: finding someone back there who can not only fly this plane, but who didn’t have fish for dinner.

Barely out of the car and the two toddlers peeled off in separate directions, Kila put me at risk with the dogcatcher, and Alana decided she was cold and hungry and hot and having a pants crisis all at once.   I gave it a go by tying down Kila and rocking Alana while standing on a picnic table trying to see just how far out of my zip code G and Alex had ventured.   Alex was pissed G couldn’t keep up, G was pissed Alex wouldn’t wait for her, Kila was sad, and some fatass soccer mom kept giving me stinkeye cause the baby wouldn’t shut up.   Barely 20 minutes and I’d had enough of everyone’s whining; it took another 10 minutes loading them all back in the car.   Then I snapped at G and Alex when we got home cause they kept complaining about everything.

Because of my mistake, six men didn’t return from that raid.
Seven. Lieutenant Zip died this morning.

When I snap at G, I get mad at myself.   There is nothing worse than yelling at your little girl and making her hide under the couch cushions.   But add to the mix being responsible for someone else’s kid, G’s obnoxious psychotic moody brattiness, and the fact that I didn’t even want 2 of my own…and I’ve quickly gone to beyond caring.   Yesterday I woke up to shrieking that G wanted something from her inexhaustible list of wants, then planting her entire body weight into my quad.   I ended the day with her clawing and grabbing and spilling my water onto the dinner I finally sat down to eat at 10pm.   Is it wrong to want to wrap your kid in duct tape and stick her in a locked room?   I’m drowning trying to placate her, or just patiently bearing her terribleness; its tempting to just give up and go under.   In one month I went from loving father to abused parent, and all I want is to avoid her and come back when its over.   I don’t want to see her make friends, I want it to be quiet.   I don’t want to snuggle with her, I want my bed to not get peed in and to not get kicked in the balls.   I slept in the guest room last night cause I couldn’t stand another night of crying and complaining.   The baby is just a noisy responsibility, but G is a black hole of determined horror that is tearing the ass out of me.   The last couple mornings driving her to daycare I just tuned out her screeching in the back seat, and was glad to toss her into whatever classroom was available and get the hell out of there.

The one sweet moment in an afternoon full of atrocities,   posted   in an attempt to rinse out the flavor of bile