Kids: The Worst Roommates

First, I love my kids dearly.  With all my heart.  They're pretty awesome kids.

As far as roommates go... you know, just people you have to live with.... kids are pretty shitty roommates.
Some days The Lovely Wife and I consider dropping them off at the nearest orphanage.

I used to live with this guy, Joshua Lindsey Mercer Clements, and he was a pretty good roommate.  He wasn't perfect; he'd cut his toenails and leave them on the living room table, and he'd dip his toast in ketchup, and I used to have to hide boxes of Lucky Charms under my bed so he wouldn't eat them.  But he had a darn good VHS collection and used to steal nachos from the pub he worked at, so we always had something to eat and watch.

But kids... man, if the person you shared an apartment with tried pulling half the stuff kids do, you'd be kicking them out as soon as the month's rent was paid.

They leave their shit everywhere.  I mean everywhere.  And everything.  Toys, socks, snacks... you name it.  If you had a roommate who just left their shit lying on the floor, you'd be pretty pissed off.  And you know what?  Sure, you can tell them to clean it up - but usually you notice it when they're either at school or sleeping.  Did the guy you live with leave a tiny Barbie shoe on the floor for you to step on in the dark?  Nope?  Oh, poor you.  If it were a roommate, then you might just get sick of it and throw their shit in the garbage.  Take that, you fucking slob!  But the kids? It's pretty likely you paid for that shit with your hard earned money.  Sure, all parents have used the line, "if you don't pick up these toys then I'm throwing them in the garbage," but we don't follow through with it.  That Barbie was, like, fifteen bucks.  I'm not about to just throw fifteen smackeroos in the trash to prove a point.  If you throw away your roommates junk, you might get a punch in the head, but you won't be out fifteen dollars.

Speaking of wasting money, kids waste food.  Food ain't cheap.  When you live with friends, there's no wasted food.  You need to save every extra nickel for beer.  Roommates take all the leftover food and throw it in a pan to make random stir fry.  Case in point, you may remember me blogging about Superman cereal and Batman cereal recently.  They were tasty.  But it should be known that I only bought the Batman cereal because my daughter begged me for it after she loved the Superman cereal.  Then she didn't like the Batman cereal at all.  And neither did I.  But I ate that shit, because I'll be damned if four dollars I spent on cereal was going to waste.

"I don't like this.  It tastes yucky."
"Eat it.  It's good for you."
"But I'm full."
"No you're not.  You've only had two bites."
"My tummy hurts."
"No it doesn't.  Fine.  Eat two more bites then it's straight to bed."
...ten minutes after dinner...
"Can I have a snack?"

Also, have you ever had that one roommate that rambles on about stuff you don't understand at all and really don't know if you care or not?  You know, that one friend that always talks about this other friend you've met maybe once or twice but she talks about them like you're best friends with them too.  Kids are kinda like that.  Some days I have no idea what my daughter is talking about.  And since she started kindergarten, it's gotten worse because she has these friends with really exciting, important lives that I apparently need to know all the details about.  And it's all the most important bullshit in the world.

"And Daddy, my friend at school...he says that there are really aliens in outer space because on the weekend he went to the moon and saw them."

She told me this while I was cooking Kraft Dinner one day.  There was no lead in or reason for me to know this.

Kids.

They cry about nothing at all and they eat their own boogers, but do so in such an elaborate way that you can't see them do it, but you can totally see them doing it.  And when you call them out on it, they wipe their nose on their sleeve when the box of tissues is literally right beside them.

Do you know all the words to "Let It Go"?  I sure do, because I've heard that song at least three hundred times now.  I even know the different versions, whether it's Edina Minzel of Demi Lovato.  Yeah, that's my life now.  The funny thing is, my daughter knows all the words too.  But these days when she's sauntering around the house singing it, she changes the words and insists they're right.  And then when I correct her she tells me I'm wrong and that she knows the words.  I shouldn't argue.  I shouldn't let it get to me.  I should just... I dunno... let it go.  But there I am, arguing with a little four year old about the stupid lyrics of a stupid fucking Disney song.  Seriously.

I know she's changing the words on purpose.  Roommates have done similar things since the dawn of time to try and get the other person to move out.  Doing something obnoxious on purpose is the oldest trick in the book.  Towards the end of living with Joshua Lindesy Mercer Clements, I used to rearrange his CD collection while he was at work.  Not because I wanted him to move out, but because I was just kind of an asshole and liked to see him lose his shit when one CD had been moved out from alphabetical order and swapped with another one.  I tinkered with the idea of swapping all the actual discs with other cases, so when he went to listen to Pearl Jam he'd end up with The Nylons instead.  But I enjoyed being alive and didn't want him to murder me.

Still, I had it pretty good living with Joshua Lindsey Mercer Clements.  I never had to deal with his poo.

Just the other night, my darling daughter called to me from upstairs...

"Daddy, you need to come fix the toilet."
"What's wrong?"
"It won't flush.  You need to come and fix it."
"What do you mean it won't flush?"
"I had a big poo and it won't flush and now you need to fix it."

It's a good thing I love my kids. It's also a good thing I got a vasectomy.  I wonder if those events are related... we may never know.

I guess my point is, if you need a roommate and you're putting a want ad in the paper for one or something, just be careful.  You don't want to end up living with one of your own children by mistake.

Thanks for reading!
- ryan