Down with Pants

Me: “Is your room clean yet?”
Danger Monkey, age 10: “Yes.”
Me: “Good. I’ll go inspect it.”
(long pause)
DM: “No. It’s not ready yet.”
Me: “OK. But why not? It’s been a while since you went up there.”
DM: “Because… my pants.”
(long pause)
Me: “Your pants.”
DM: “Yes, my pants.”
(long pause)
Me: “I don’t get the connection. Help me out here.”
DM: “These are my heaviest pants. They are really slowing me down.”
(long pause)
ME: “OK, first, I have to tell you I think you’re making that up as an excuse because you were playing around instead of cleaning. But, just in case it’s an actual issue, let’s address this. I feel comfortable saying that if your pants or any article of clothing is keeping you from cleaning your room, you should change your clothes. If needed, you can even clean your room naked.”
DM: “You’re no fair!” (storms off)
(long pause)
Me: “Tweenager.”

King Solomon on Laundry

Me: “OK, OK… stop arguing. At this point, I don’t care who said what. I just need the hallway cleared. Is there — or is there not — stuff in the hallway between your rooms?”

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “Yes.”

Danger Monkey, age 10: “Yes.”

Me: “OK, then, who does it belong to?”

DM: “Not me.”

LMT: “Not me.”

Me: “Good! That makes it easy. Let’s gather it all up and give it to charity.”

DM: “I’ll do that right now!” (runs off)


Me: …

Me: “I win.”


(wakes up)

Wonderful Wife: “Good morning.”

Me: “Good morning.”

Lump Under Blankets: “Good Morning.”

Me: “Bah! Who is that?”

(throws off blanket)

Little Miss Thing, age 7: “It’s me!”

Me: “When did you get into bed with us?”

LMT: “I had a bad dream.”

WW: “Let’s snuggle a little and then it’s time to clean our rooms and finish packing for our trip.”

LMT: “I don’t want to clean or pack. I’m not going!”

Me: “Well, you can’t stay here.”

LMT: “I’ll run away. I can live in the woods.”

Me: “That escalated quickly.”

WW: “Let’s just snuggle and we’ll talk about it later.”

LMT: “No! I’m going to go sulk in my bed.” (stomps off)

WW: “She might need more sleep.”

Me: “Did she really just use the word sulk?”

WW: “Yes. That’s our girl.”

Me: “God help us all.”