Dad’s in Charge: What Could Go Wrong?

“Bill, I’m leaving now,” Sandi called. “You have the kids.”

“Ok, Sandi, be careful,” I answered.

I watched her pull out of the driveway and my mind drifted back 30 years.

Stacy and I watched Sesame Street while Patrick was in school and Laura was asleep in her crib. Tired from a short night, I sat in a comfortable chair while Stacy sat on the floor, engrossed in Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch. With some effort, I kept my eyes open, keenly aware of my responsibility. But I was warm and comfortable, and my head kept drooping as I fought sleep. I forced my eyes open and looked at Stacy, still engrossed in the program.

Suddenly, I became aware that my neck hurt and that puzzled me. Why was my neck hurting? Suddenly awake, I jerked my head up. I had dozed off. I looked at Stacy, playing happily in the snow in front of the TV. Relieved that she was safe, I relaxed and my eyelids drooped again.

Something didn’t seem right, though. Snow!? In the living room? I jolted fully awake and looked again. I wasn’t dreaming. Stacy, covered in white, played happily in a white mound on the floor. I had fallen asleep and Stacy had retrieved the flour canister and decided to play in the “snow” in front of the TV. I groaned and Stacy turned, looking innocently at me with flour on her hands, her clothes, her face and in her hair.

Angry, more at myself than at Stacy, I got up and scolded her. Then, I began to clean up the flour. This proved more difficult than I thought. Our vacuum cleaner, hopelessly inadequate, gagged and the motor made painful, screeching noises while it left piles of flour. Finally, I gave up and borrowed a shop vacuum to clean it up before Patrick got home and made the mess worse. With the mess finally cleaned up, I turned my full attention to Stacy.

I sat her down on a chair to discipline her, but when I did, a cloud erupted from her pants, rising sedately about her. I started to chuckle. This was like countless scenes from cartoons that I had seen since my early years and here it was happening to me. I tried to regain my composure to apply the necessary discipline, but I couldn’t stop chuckling. I quickly realized that it was impossible for me to discipline a child while I was laughing. I had already scolded her once, and that would have to do. I picked her up and gently brushed her off.

“Go play in your room,” I told her and sent her off with a hug.

I turned my attention back to the present and checked on the boys. That would not happen again.

“I’m home,” Sandi called later as she walked through the door. “Was everything all right?”

“Sure,” I answered, glancing at the two boys as they watched a movie on TV. “No problems.”

Bill Bartlett lives in Belton with his wife, Sandi, and two sons. Luckily it hasn’t snowed in his living room for some time.