the witching hour

When they’re babies, you call it The Witching Hour—that period between 5 pm and 7 pm when babies lose their minds for reasons unknown to mankind. It’s a time that makes you think “I’m just no good at this parenting thing” until six months go by and you realize your kid’s been doing this EVERY DAY AT THE EXACT SAME TIME FOR SIX MONTHS. And then you think, “Maybe it’s not my poor parenting skills after all. Maybe God just doesn’t like our family.” And you feel better. 

My children still adhere to The Witching Hour and all its unwritten obligations. 

I. Thou Shalt Freak The Hell Out For No Good Reason

II. No Good Reason at All

III. Your Parents Must Not See It Coming 

IV: Bitch, Moan, Scream, Throw Shit, Play The Nearest Instrument, Punch Your Brother in the Chest 

V. Bang Your Skull on the Refrigerator = 10 Bonus Points

Gus is the master.

--Mommy, can I have an appetizer while Daddy’s cooking dinner?

--(Aww how cute. He said appetizer.) Sure, what would you like?

--A piece of cheese, please.

--Here you go. 

--(Starts to turn blue) You unwrapped it. 

--Yes …

 --I HAVE TO KILL MYSELF NOW. 

Adding to the misery, Larry has this theory that families should eat together and talk about their days. I have this theory that I’ll be in the bedroom; call me when it’s over. 


There’s no talking about our days. There is Gus talking about his day. And there is Gus talking about his butt and its myriad capabilities. 


--(Taking a bite of his chicken patty) You know it’s strange. When I wipe my butt, not a lot of poopy comes off. But when you wipe Patrick’s butt, there’s a lot of poopy. Isn't that so weird? 


So weird.

--Hey Gus, are you going to eat your bun?

--MOMMY SAID EAT MY BUNS! HA! POOP.