Saturday, October 24, 2015
The emotions running through me were many when my wife broke the news to me at about the half way point in the work day. An old friend had gone missing about an hour before the call. Last seen in the hands of a three year old was the remote control for the Apple TV. Fear and panic at first as well as anger. This had been a problem before and I had sometimes resorted to taping it to the larger Tv remote. I settled into a state of calmness though when I realized that I would find it. "Our house is small" I thought to myself, "nothing hides from me in my own house!"
I arrived home to dinner on the table and planned my attack silently not even tasting the food. I issued orders that once I found the "bitty mote troll" as Jack calls it, no one under the age of 30 was allowed to touch it. I started my search in the most obvious place, the living room. Logically I started with the sofas first hoping in vain that it was hiding in the cushions or underneath. I found numerous pretzels and crackers and things of that sort that children seem to leave in their wake but no remote. The toy corner was next but nothing was found there but toys and a few pacifiers. The book shelves and the TV stand were next. The only thing out of the ordinary there were a flattened balloon and a couple of drops of sweat that was starting to bead on my forehead. Dread was the emotion I felt now as I cleared the living room of possibilities. What was I going to do if I couldn't find it? After all the kids were asleep, how was I going to watch multiple episodes of horrible TV. We've gotten rid of cable for the fantastic glory that is Apple TV! I was going to find that little bitch if it took all night! Unfortunately it was bath time, which meant I was going to be getting wet and soapy with them as they splished and splashed their way clean. After I cleaned up afterwards, I got back to my search. The twins room was first but I had no luck. Not under their cribs, not under their dresser and not amongst their toys. Jack's room was my only hope. I dug through his window seat toy box I built with my own two hands and found only frustration at the bottom of it. Searched his book shelves and nothing was my reward! My only chance was under his bed. The last place to look. I threw myself on the floor and had a look. I could see nothing through all the clutter underneath his bed. As well as clothes that no longer fit him, a good deal of art supplies and projects are stored under there. I was desperate. I got on my knees, lifted the entire bed with one hand and sifted threw all the bullshit with the other. Throwing aside Osh-Kosh overalls this way and Crayola washable markers that way, I found no remote and no satisfaction! I gave up in despair. There would be no Ice Road Truckers or Yukon men this night. The kids were asleep and we settled in on the couches watching PBS or some shit. I buried my feelings in a package of Pecan Sandies. I resigned myself to going to Best Buy the next day and buying a new remote. I woke my wife who had fallen asleep after a hard day with the children and we started off to the bedroom. My path took me past a book shelf. There, about six and a half feet in the air on top of the book shelf was my remote control I spent at least an hour total looking for. I turned around to face my beloved. "Babe...." I pointed at the remote. "Oh yeah....". What was I going to do slap her? As I said, I lifted a bed with one hand! My pimp hand is strong and shit! I simply shook my head and put my arm around her and we went to bed. I'm no animal, I'm a BadTwinDad. Follow us on Facebook at BadTwinDad and follow us on Twitter @BadTwinDad.