It’s Sunday night, I’ve been traveling for work for the past week, only returning late Friday night. Of course, while away, my toddler comes down with a horrible head cold, immediately passing it to me the moment I walk in the door (probably because I refuse to turn away from snot-filled kisses). By Sunday night, we’re both feeling like the dirty end of a plunger.
Sunday consisted of 7 poopy diapers, non-stop chasing of crawling twins (always in different directions), three refusals to nap, a handful of spit-ups (why always on the beige rug), 2 loads of laundry, too many toddler fits to count and hours of tears (primarily from one whiny little twin, who I’ve affectionately nicknamed, Howler Monkey) and finally getting the twins off to bed. At last, my daughter and I snuggle up on the couch and I turn on her favorite show, Bubble Guppies. I glance at the clock, guiltly I realize there is enough time to watch three 20-minute episodes before bath time. That means, excluding some minor picking-up around the room and fetching the inevitable water and yogurt, I will get to sit down for almost a full hour. I feel wild with happiness at that thought. I pull my little girl closer and kiss the top of her head.
Just then, my husband trots through the living room, on his way to go feed the fish in our saltwater aquarium. Walking behind the couch, he passively says, “Do you think we let her watch too much TV?”. If we were at war, that perfectly launched grenade would have earned him his stripes. In my mind, I envision him throwing this comment over his shoulder, behind his back, and watching it land with perfect precision right in the middle of the living room. Bull’s eye. Direct hit.
My first (and only) defensive tactic runs through my mind – I work 50 hours a week, raising twin babies and a toddler, travel for work, write on the side and train for half-marathons. Plus, I have a cold! It’s completely excusable that I let her watch too much TV! But it doesn’t help, the damage has been done. I have to work quickly to shore up the hole he’s knocked in the wall between being a good Mom and being a bad Mom (can CPS now take your kids for too much TV time?). I let a few minutes of silence go by, then slowly reach out for the nearest coloring book and crayons (luckily I haven’t cleaned much today, so there is a crayon about every 8 inches in the living room). Leaving the TV on, I ask Haley what shapes I can draw her and what colors she would like. She abandons the TV and asks for a blue heart. We work on learning ‘big’ versus ‘small’ through many sized blue hearts. The TV rattles on in the background – if I turn it off at this point he would notice, like a grey cloud of smoke, it would signal a direct hit. Like the game of Battleship, once he knows my position, its game over.
If you’re good at hiding your ships, the game of Battleship can be a long one. David and I are amazing at it. We’ve been playing since the twins were born. A passive comment, a quick glance, a “helpful” suggestion, a cute albeit curt remark (perhaps even a dirty diaper tossed lovingly at each
David joins our coloring session on the couch and the TV is forgotten beneath the sound of laughter as Haley gives and takes crayons from her father. As bath time rolls around, I realize this past hour was undeniably better than an hour of staring into space while my daughter watches TV. I won’t deny the utter exhaustion I feel, it certainly didn’t dissipate, but thanks to one well-timed grenade, I have one more happy memory with my family.
Should we call a truce to our game of Battleship? Probably. Would a therapist have a field day with what I’ve admitted to? Yep. But does it make us work harder at being good parents…