It's Me or Your Kids!

I watched the reality TV series "It's Me or the Dog" this morning on TLC or whatever network, all I got out of it is I am starting a new reality TV series for this family called "It's me or Your Kids!" When I refer to the kids as Steve's kids during a conversation he and I are having he says "Prove it!" Which means we know the kids are mine but need DNA testing to prove he had any part in this insanity. After thirteen years of him responding this way I have countered with "Don't make me go make another kid with a different guy to show you that kid would look different from the rest of our spawn!" He gives me a look like that was inappropriate to say and we switch the subject.

The idea for this family show comes from watching the over grown horse of a Great Dane take out his master as he walks through the door, he's happy to see him but at 150lbs and six feet tall, and his standing at this greeting, it's just bad manners. This might seem raw and harsh but this mimics when I get home from a quick run to the small town store. I come back with food to feed my energetic family, food that I went hand selected and paid for just so they could eat and enjoy having food in the house.

As I drive up there isn't a soul in sight. I hear the wind and silence, not even a chirp from a bird, I wonder if I am the last person on this planet. When I left everyone was outside being super active, laughing and running around. I open the back of the suburban thinking surely someone will realize I am home and come rushing out to help me with this load. I turn in each direction searching for someone, like I just did at the store in the dark parking lot, I know I am extremely sexy in the dark with a dim street light hovering above, therefore I am extra careful to watch out for a young sexy college student that might throw me in his van and take me to a party. To bad for me it didn't happen this time, I mean I looked with hopes not fears!

I grab all that I can so I don't have to come back out to the car, I feel the plastic handles cut into my fingers, they aren't too heavy, it's the long walk that forces the bags to abuse me. I have to park out past the driveway across a four foot span of muddy puddle in the grass, about fifty or more feet away, my six and three year old need their space and the car takes that from them. I step over the puddle, almost tripping as I am looking towards the house so I don't miss the help that is going to burst through the door any minute. I notice the good towels are in piles covered in freshly mowed grass, wiped with muddy feet as I take a step up to the porch. As soon as I hit the porch the door is flung open two little people descend out in front of me, I can't move, the dog comes rushing to my feet drops his tennis ball, I step on it and almost go down. I inch in further using the bags of groceries as a shield pushing my children towards the door, in the doorway there stands the rest of the family, (key word: stands) statues staring at me like I am a first time visitor. I start to say something and then catch myself as I almost biff it from tripping over a Lightning McQueen small beach ball, all the while I am still pushing my way in as children are trying to come out. I start to feel like I am Lady Gaga making my way through a crowd that must have my autograph. Steve finally pokes his head around and looks at me, "Move you guys!" Oh, yes just in time he comes to my rescue. They all take a baby step aside so that I am able to dart over the four feet of kitchen (that I am so blessed to have), so that I can drop the groceries. I stand there, and they know what they have done but they still just stare at me like "what's for dinner?"

Deep breathing sets in cause I cannot for the life of me believe that after all these years and all the whining, complaining, and freaking out that I have done that this is still our routine.

Here is why I didn't get any help as I arrived with the goods. 1) Steve pretends to not be able to hear my million ton suburban that screeches and calls out "Please fix me!" The rumbling doesn't perk his ears, the dog whining (something he does each time one of us pulls in) just makes him think that the dog is professing his love to his great master, the dog then gets a pat on the head, a hug and a "Who's a good boy?" I think I will stop shaving to see if I can get that kind of attention and praise!

2) My kids didn't run out to my rescue and help their amazing mother because how could they stop in the middle of a new "iCarly" episode, they don't want to pause because they haven't seen this particular one before, everyone knows you only pause if it's a rerun and we have it recorded. One child couldn't hear because of the ipod, she had ear buds in.

3) The other children couldn't help, they were already helping their pretend mom unload groceries in their "playing house" game.

I love my family beyond measure, more than New York, more than vintage strawberry decorations, more than all my writing books and more than my new diet but I have to tell you a piece of me dies each time I come home with groceries!