Tables Turned

One of the benefits to writing a dad blog is editing. While it may seem like you’re getting no holds barred, honest look into our lives, you’re really only seeing what I want you to see. I keep the funniest bits. But I also liberally trim off all the parts where I scream, “shut up shut up shut up!” Or the bits where I really, truly put my sons in harm’s way (I’m pantomiming drinking a beer while driving).

I enjoy the control of my scripted for television parenting. So it makes me very angry when non-scripted information gets out into the public. Particularly when the audience for this non scripted into are Elijah’s teachers.

Let’s take a step back for a second.

Yesterday morning, we were engaged in our thrice a week struggle to get Elijah to school. We could all wake at 4am and we’d still be 15 minutes late in getting that boy out the door. After rushing through my own morning routine, I slapped on my coat, grabbed my keys and announced we were getting in the car for school.

Diana was chasing Luca, trying to wrestle him into his coat, so all I had to do was find Elijah. He was in our office, playing on the computer still clad in his pjs and a nighttime diaper so laden with urine it looked like he was growing another butt.

I loudly announced that Eli had better run out of the office and into his school clothes before violence happened. Elijah stared deeply into the computer screen and mumbled something meant to stall me.

In a boil of anger, I slammed the laptop closed. Eli began punching the air (a much healthier alternative to punching people), bug eyed and furious.

“I’m so so mad at you, daddy!”

I ignored him and pulled his pajama top over his head a little too roughly.

So last night I get home and I see a note on the fridge. It was one the usual notes from school Eli brings home. It’s an activity list (“Karate Carl came by for a demonstration”). But they also throw something in that’s specific to Eli (“Eli told the class about Grover’s poop today…”).

Well at the bottom of this note was the following:

“Eli told the class how angry he is at his dad for not letting him play on the computer.” And they added a little smiley face

What? How dare he narc on me to his teachers? I ignore my sons’ privacy. Not the other way around.

I stomped downstairs and found everyone in the boys’ room. All nude except Diana.

“Eli, why did you tell your teachers that bunk about being mad at me?”

“Because you wouldn’t let me play on the computer.”

“Yeah, well now I look like a jerky dad.”

“I’m making a clothes salad for the Queen.”

I looked down and he was, in fact, making a nice salad out of laundry and I thought, "I gotta remember that for the blog.”