Let a Man Handle This...reprise

After many complaints...well, actually no one complained, but I think about it a lot so...I've decided to add a little more writing to The Two R's! After all, it's supposed to be about Running and Writing, except about 90% of the posts are about running. So, starting with this post, and every once in a while in the future, I will toss in a "very special, watch with your whole family, serious-Blossom type episode" best of writing piece from the old Woolley Scott dot Com site.

Let's start with a little something I called "Let a Man Handle This", originally posted on November 11, 2006.

LET A MAN HANDLE THIS

Yes, that would be me...the man. Just wanted to make that clear.

So after about the 14th time that Payton shoved his hand down his pants today, Jen finally felt she had to speak up.

“What are you doing?” Jen asked.

“Nothing,” Payton replied. Wisely, in my opinion.

“Why do you keep putting your hand down your pants?” Jen asked.

“My underwear are too loose.”

“What?”

“My underwear are too loose. I have to fix my pee-pee.”

“What?” Jen asked again.

Listening in the kitchen, I could have stepped in at this point and advised Jen to cut her losses, but that really isn’t my preferred method of parenting...or husbanding, as the case may be. Sink or swim, I say. Live and let live, I say. This is what you get for turning my underwear pink in the wash and forcing me to speed-dress at the club to limit my embarrasment, I say.

“I have to adjust my pee-pee,” Payton repeated patiently. “My underwear are too loose and it just goes where ever it wants.”

“I hope not,” Jen said.

Me too, I thought.

“It does,” Payton said. “Dad understands. He’s done it before.”

Oh, boy.

“Scott!” Jen yelled. “Could you please tell Payton to keep his hand out of his pants, please?”

The double-please is not a good sign.

I ducked my head into the living room. “It’s a guy thing. Don’t worry about it. Pee-pees sometimes have to be adjusted. Don’t you ever watch professional baseball?”

Payton nodded sagely. “See?” He said to his mother.

I ducked back into the kitchen before Jen’s crook-eye could get me.

It’s no wonder there are so few of us SAHD’s...most mothers would rather have all fathers at work six or seven days out of the week. At least.