When the Cat’s Away the Mice Will Play…
Max knew it was inevitable.
His brothers and sister take extreme pleasure in using his room when he is gone. It doesn’t matter if it is a one-night sleep over or a two-weeks camp…
his bed will be contaminated.
I don’t doubt that they rub an extra booger on his pillow for a silent revenge. Maybe a juicy fart on his beloved brown fuzzy blanket. And I would say he deserves it. Max’s triple type-A, first born, anal OCD personality disorder needs an occasional booger to bring him down to our level.
Just as expected, the kids have been sleeping in his room every night.
Even Ruby enjoyed rubbing it in.
I just sent these photos off to camp. I can’t express the overwhelming satisfaction I get from this. If I couldn’t only be there when he first glimpses his nemesis, Shmaniel, cuddling his blanket and his stinky dog drooling on his bed. Such sweet revenge for all the times I had to re-wash his blanket because it didn’t “smell” right or tuck in his sheets more because they weren’t “tight” enough. Yes, I created this monster during the early early years of amateur parenting. I thought picking the watermelon seeds out was love, but found out it was a rookie move.
Trust me, all you new parents: the first child is a sacrificial lamb for the others to come. We ruin them with our novice parenting skills, but subsequent children will be better because of it.
That isn’t to say the first born is a lost cause. Those first years of child-dictatorship helps grow a hearty sense of narcissism that will cary them far in life, as evident in Max’s last line in his heart-felt letter…
Thanks, Max, for reminding me.