Scrimmage Tactics

I just discovered that my husband is an underhanded, lying cheater. 

I have been married to this brilliant man forever and I finally figured it out (albeit, a little late) this afternoon. Right as the kids started fighting about something silly, my husband quietly walked up the stairs and silently went into the bathroom. I patiently (I’m not lying!) listened to each of my children and coached their confused little hearts back to the peaceful field of sibling-hood. Sometimes, I am amazing. 

During this entire exchange of luminous parenthood (on my part) my deceitful partner in this parenthood game, hid in the bathroom. He was in there forever. Finally, as he emerged from his bathroom sanctuary, he verbally throws out a, “boy, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you…..”

Except I did. I had to. At the time I didn’t want to. But I needed to get the toy that the above mentioned children were fighting about. 

It hits me, as I am finally forced to let out the breath of air I have been holding upon entering the hidey-hole my husband calls a bathroom, it doesn’t smell! I am not kidding. It doesn’t smell at all. So, here I am, standing in my bathroom, shocked, because I have finally figured out my husband’s parenting tactics.

When there is a scrimmage between players, quietly sneak off the field, and fake a poop.