Pretending to Sleep to Avoid Spending Time With My Kids

Virtually every day, I make a parenting decision that could easily be the catalyst for a career in porn for my children when they become adults. Yesterday, I pretended to sleep so my kids would leave me alone and just go to bed. I love my kids so much that I often want to punch something because my feelings are so strong. Yet, every night, I reach a point where I’m just fried from work and I just want to be left the fuck alone.

I’ve come to dread my kids’ bedtime routines, primarily because there is no routine. The home that my wife, children and I share has the structure of a bar taken over by bad Gremlins. We suck at establishing routines and the kids’ behavior often reflects that. By the time 8pm rolls around each night, I feel like I’ve just finished snorting Xanax throughout a Ken Burns documentary. By that time, the kids are either taking baths or bringing a stack of books to me to read to them before they go upstairs to bed. When they bring the books over, I pray that the books are short. When the books are lengthy, I speed read those motherfuckers because I simply can’t wait to have time to myself where I can just beat off to nothing or stare open-mouthed at the ceiling and try to make sense of my day.

Last night, I was lying on the couch with my eyes closed as the kids finished homework with my wife, Jaime. When I heard them packing their things up and putting their school bags away, I knew it was time to really ham up this fake nap and pretend I was out for the night to avoid quality time with these fuckers. I could feel each one staring at me as they walked past and I couldn’t wait to hear each of their footsteps become more and more distant, a lot like I fantasize about my funeral. Within a minute, I heard each one of the kids say goodnight to Jaime and head up stairs, while I lay on the couch like the responsibility-shirking,¬†fat asshole that I am. Once I heard the last set of footsteps upstairs, I instantly felt relief, followed by that vicious punch-in-the-chest that the Shitty Parenting Fairy suckers you with every time you know you fucked up with the kids. You instantaneously know what you did wrong and that you should do things differently next time.

In hindsight, I know I should have told the kids to get a couple of books, read to them and just pick their brains before they called it a night. But, whatever. There’s always tonight. Unless I’m tired. In that case, I’ll be hiding under the sink until they get tired of looking for me.

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