A list of the shit my kids break [Alternate title: This is why we can’t have nice things]

Many years ago, I was helping my dad clean out some portion of his hoarding house when he picked-up a black trash bag and began carefully placing crystal goblets into the bottom of the bag. And I may, or may not, have said, “You shouldn’t have nice things.” O.K. this was a very true disrespectful thing to say, and I probably deserved a time out. I wish I hadn’t said that to my dad. I wish I had just covered my eyes and thought of my happy place, which at that moment would have been a professionally organized walk-in closet complete with sparkly lighting, floor to ceiling mirrors and a dry bar.

I grew-up with this kind of bedlam so you’d think I’d be better prepared for the task of parenthood. Although, you could also draw the conclusion that slamming your hand in the side door of a minivan would better prepare one for a tax audit. For me, I’d take the pain of a crushed limb over an audit any day.

So yesterday while I was trying to put my life in order...doing laundry, organizing drawers...I heard screaming coming from the dining room. It was Ben screaming, and from the sound of it, I thought someone was shattering his knees with a baseball bat and threatening to take him shopping at T.J. Maxx. But it was worse. Someone had dumped water all over his MacBook. [It’s currently resting in stable condition, however it’s long term prognosis is still unknown.]

Now who could have saturated a perfectly good laptop? Oh, I don’t know, the child holding an empty spray bottle and a wet baby doll wrapped in a towel? The same child who’d earlier that day scribbled all over the ‘New Student Packet’ the school wants us to fill out, and return, on the first day of school. I think it’s safe to say, this is all the information the school needs to know about our family.

This is what kids do; they break your shit. It’s their big thank you for all the vomit you’ve scraped off their sheets and car seats you’ve installed in ninety-degree weather while mosquitoes fly up your skirt and the neighbor's dog pees on you ankles. And I get that. However, this life of theirs is not a rental car, and I will be billing them when Ben and I need to put down a cash deposit on the old folks home. For that purpose, a list.

Shit my kids break [and counting]:

1. Ball point pen scribbled all over the inside of my Coach wallet.
2. Melted caramel on the bottom of my Banana Republic hobo bag. [Although, a hobo bag probably had it coming.]
3. Curtain rod brackets ripped from the drywall.
4. My boobs.
5. Chewed gum. EVERYWHERE.
6. The backseat of the car. All of it.
7. One MacBook.
8. My spirit.
9.  
10.  
11.  
12.  

I’ve allowed for additional space on this list since, unfortunately, this is only a partial accounting of the ruining and is not yet complete. Have you started a list?