Two kids are a helluva lot to deal with, especially at 2 and 4 years old. You’re looking at two snot-nosed, chocolate-stained balls of energy who have the mobility of a cockroach and the stamina of an Iditarod husky. They may be cute, but they’re impossible to contain—and it ain’t my job to try to contain them. Those are your kids. Sure, I said you could come over and bring the fam. I hadn’t seen you all in months. But this is MY house. And those are YOUR kids. And that couch your kids are walking with their shoes on, those magazines they keep crumpling up, and that TV they keep rocking with their sticky fingers are MY things. I love you guys, and normally enjoy your company, but I didn’t invite you over to tag me in as parent. I just want to play host, not babysitter.
I Saw You is an anonymous “man on the street” column. Email your rants and raves about co-workers or any badly behaving citizens to [email protected], or send to 380 S. First St, San Jose, 95113. Submissions should stick to about 100 words.
