When I started this blog today I wanted to come up with some cute, quippy-type of post. But then I decided to let real life just write this for itself, for it’s true, truth is stranger than fiction.

Things my children have destroyed:

When I got married I had nice things in my house. Nothing had been broken. Nothing got mysteriously broken. Nothing had been misplaced. Everything was right where I left it. Then I had children, and everything changed. I’ve got items that I purchased almost 10 years ago that are currently not seeing the light of the sun because of my boys’ destructive streaks. What? You want examples of that which I write…ok, you asked for it.

Let’s start from when the first boy was born. He was docile for the first month, very nice. My wife and I would still light candles on the coffee table when enjoying a relatively peaceful evening. Then he started to toddle around. Everything changed overnight after the mobility came. The first thing I remember truly destroyed in my new (at the time) house was the wall. That’s right, the wall. Now, while I admit some of this may have been my oversight, I still take none of the blame. There it was, my new bookshelf, all ready to go. I hadn’t had the time to put books into it at that point, and the more I looked at the empty shelf the more I thought, “This probably looks like a ladder to my son,” so I turned it around and pushed it firmly against the wall. Long story, short, he was able to still get behind the empty bookshelf and proceeded to push it over with the strength of a little Superman. I was working at the time, so I didn’t hear the crash – but my wife gave me the lowdown when I got home. To this day I can still see the hole that we attempted to patch in our brand new house’s wall. Thank God he didn’t get hurt, but this was now a wake-up call for my wife and I. Things would be different from this day, forward.

Since then he’s grown up to be a wonderful little boy, and has a little brother to boot. We thought, “let’s give him a brother so he won’t be lonely,” little did we realize that this would secure the fact that we would never again know who had committed the crimes of destruction in the house. “He did it…,” “No! HE did it!” And so it goes. I was emptying the dishwasher the other day when I noticed something wasn’t right, the dishes smelled like peppermint. Oh no. As I proceeded to pull dishes from the machine, it finally dawned on me what this was. Gum. Peppermint gum. I pull the perpetrators together in the kitchen and proceed to interrogate them as to what happened. “He did it…,” “No! HE did it!” What was I thinking? I knew this would be my answer! Upon a recent mental inventory of broken/ruined items in my house, I have come up with a short list: Two dvd players (no, bologna is not the same as a dvd, even if it’s the same size), various portions of drywall (soccer balls are meant to be kicked outside), a couch, a loveseat, a recliner, hollow wooden doors, dishes and cups, two computers (not a virus, but rather the laptops being dropped off of tables), and my car – oh my beautiful car – to name a very few.

Some may think that keeping a list like this is a bad thing to do. I call it an inventory for the future. The someday, “honey-do” list of things that have been, uh, temporarily disabled.

18 years from now, I’m going to get my cool stuff back, I just know it.