The World According T0 J-Fed

It’s always something with J-Fed. This morning, it was returning daughter to the house in an appropriate manner. By appropriate manner, I mean fed, dressed and ready to start the day with the appearance of a normal 5-year-old child who doesn’t rise and shine out of the confines of a homeless shelter. I looked at the clock at 7 a.m., already knowing it wasn’t going to be good. Daughter had to be dressed, fed and out of the house by 7:25 every morning. And I knew when the Fedster brought her back she would be none of the above.

I got on the horn and to no surprise, it was obvious I had shaken him from a nice restful sleep when he answered the phone.

“Oh, I must have set the alarm clock wrong. I meant for it to go off at 6 a.m.,” he said nonchalantly.

You know J-Fed, what you mean to do and what you actually do are two very different things. What if I meant to pay the mortgage and didn’t do it? What if I meant to feed the baby and forgot? What if I meant to let the dogs out to go to the bathroom and it slipped my mind? It’s called being an adult. Like Nike says, just do it.

“Are you going to bring her over so I can take her to school?” I said, trying to maintain my composure. It was now 7:03 a.m. and time kept on slipping, slipping.

“I guess I have no choice,” he huffed. Yes, you see J-Fed wanted me to come pick up daughter from his house so that he wouldn’t have to get out of bed to do it. Well, I want someone who’s going to do half of everything there is to do around here. As it’s plain to see, we don’t always get what we want, now do we?

Admittedly, I tried to play Mrs. Nice Guy in the beginning and had no qualms about going to get daughter. But then I realized that I was putting forth all of the effort and getting nothing in return. For example, J-Fed promised to wash my car this weekend, needless to say I’m still expecting one of the neighborhood kids to sneak up and etch a big WASH ME in the muck that’s built up.

The two high-hat light bulbs that need to be changed? I’ll have to hire someone to see the light.

While I waited for J-Fed to drop off daughter, I poured some milk into a cup and got out a serving of muffins ready. God only knew what condition she’d show up in. And 25 minutes later, about the same time we were supposed to be leaving for school, I found out. My poor little pumpkin rolled out of her father’s truck looking no worse for the wear.

Her hair was completely disheveled. There was a chocolate smudge on her face. She was wearing the same jeans she had gone over to his house in. AND her shirt was on inside out. It would be a cold day in hell before little miss sunshine went to school looking like that.

I tried to stay mum but couldn’t help myself.

“These are the clothes I sent her over there in,” I pointed out.

“That’s all I had,” he retorted.

Without another word, I reached over her booster seat in the back of his truck and pulled out the overnight back chock full of two perfectly suitable school outfits. I helped daughter out of the truck and rushed her inside without so much as a goodbye.

I understand it is difficult rolling out of bed and getting a child ready for school every morning, especially when someone else has always done it for you. But man, step up to the plate. Take some pride. I mean, do you think daughter really needs to walk around school all day with her clothes on inside out? Better yet J-Fed, look at it in these terms.

Would you want to walk around all day with your clothes inside out? OK, don’t answer that question. Because there are times when I have seen you do just that. Why? Because you don’t give a crap. Sure, why sweat the small stuff… and it’s all small stuff? But come on, daughter shouldn’t have to suffer because of your shortcomings.

If your alarm doesn’t work, well buy another alarm clock. In fact, invest in a cuckoo clock while you’re at it since that does seem to be quite fitting. J-Fed, for the love of God, this is your chance to shine as a parent. This is your chance to prove that you can raise daughter every bit as well as I can. Now, get on the field and play ball!

Trust me, as the father of my two children, I want you to score a home run. Whether you hit a grand slam or strike out in your personal life is no longer of consequence to me. But when it comes to the kids, I’m your biggest cheerleader. So make me proud!

Stop being a benchwarmer and start leading your team to victory.

In the meantime, I’ll just thank God that baby is over here with me. Or else she might come home with a diaper on her head and a pacifier up her ass.