Momma said knock you out

Why? Why do I give my children gifts that I know will only serve to annoy and drive me closer to that cliff of insanity that knows no return?

I was all proud of myself for finding a Wii for Gav early in October for a kicka$$ price. He had not asked for one, thinking they were way beyond our price range (he’s good like that…not asking for much nor complaining about it either…of course, i’ll sell my plasma if need be to get him what i secretly know he wants). For some reason, he thinks they cost $1000. Probably some little snit at school bragging about his $1000 Wii.

Anyway, I hooked the Wii and a game. His dad set him up with three more games and an additional controller. (we’re usually good about working in conjunction for christmas and birthday gifts if for no other reason than we don’t get the same presents for the gavster…except for the year his dad showed up with a miniature pinscher puppy without any forewarning…gav was only 2 years old at the time and had an instant hate-hate relationship with this tiny black creature that kept biting the shit out of his chubby little toddler fingers and face…i also loathed the thing early on as i was missing the crotch in all my panties after leaving the dog alone one day in the house…dog lovers, start cursing me because i sold the lil shiznit and bought a most excellent washing machine with the money…i heard she was living the good life, though, with a fellow pinscher, making sweet dog love and momming multiple litters of pups…win-win for everyone) So, yeh, the Wii was Gav’s big Christmas gift.

He finally came home last night, so I set up the gaming system this morning for him (on an lcd tv his father bought for his room last christmas…ok, maybe we don’t communicate so well on the gav gifting…no way was i going to have a satellite box installed in gav’s room so i could have an even more difficult time getting him out the door on time or completing homework or studying for exams…yes, i realize i’ve now created an equally tortuous problem with the gaming in his room…we’ll see how the fresh nine weeks at school plays out…i’m thinking the wii will be excellent wagering goods for doing what he needs to do).

I haven’t seen my son since 10 a.m. this morning. I have heard all sorts of banging and yelling all day emanating from his room. I hoped maybe he was knocking out a wall and extending his room into a sweet master bedroom with a deck leading out to the backyard where he was installing a hot tub. I just went in a few minutes ago to see if he had indeed turned to a life of construction. No. I found him in a heated “boxing” match against some Wii skank named Emma. Yes, my son was boxing a cybergirl. Great.

He had stripped down to his shorts and was sweating like he had been running endless trips up and down the Sears Tower. I’m not kidding. I saw one huge splatter of sweat fall from his chin right when I walked in the room. As if his room didn’t wreak enough already.

Now, I’m back to the whining and groaning if I ask him to unload the dryer or get a drink for his sister. (she likes a screwdriver, heavy on the vodka, like mom…joking)

Next year, I’m getting him a broom, dustpan, mop, mop bucket, and maybe an apron with his name embroidered across the chest. Yeh, now we’re talking, baby.

Oh yeh, I’m still pregnant.