The Day Jarod Went F'ing Crazy

The other day I went out with a girlfriend of mine and had a much-needed break away from reality. We spent the night laughing, talking and just catching up since it had been awhile since we had last seen one another. I had a wonderful night but for Jarod, who was stuck at home with all three kids, it was entirely a different story.

Jarod goes to bed incredibly early, I would even bet, maybe even earlier than most seventy-year-old men, and starts work hours before the rest of us are even awake. Unfortunately, for him our oldest is exactly like me: he will fight debilitating exhaustion until it hits him square on the face like a boulder of bricks. Since I’m the stay-at-home-mommy and Jarod works really early, I’m the one who tends to Aiden's needs at night, which typically includes, but is not limited to, acknowledging his “owies,” helping him go potty about twenty times each night and being available to chat with, show toys to and simply be around for every kind of annoyances thing an almost four-year-old does to pass the time.


The exhaustion finally hit him.

Since I was out, all of these night-time duties fell onto Jarod and a few hours after I left, I got a text from Jarod, “Ahhhh I want to beat this kid! He has pissed himself twice now and has gone to the bathroom 5 times now tonight. Wtf is wrong with him…”

I was too busy with my friend to hear my phone go off so I didn’t even notice the message until an hour later. I messaged him back, knowing full-well that everyone was already sound asleep, that I was sorry with a sad-face icon denoting my sympathy.

The next day, Jarod called me on his lunch break and recalled the lovely events of the night before. He told me that at the height of his frustration and just shortly after the second time Aiden peed in his pants, he took Aiden to the bathroom again, instructing him to “get all of his pee out ” because it was “time for bed.” Aiden finished using the potty, proceeded to pull up his pants and possibly a bit unnerved by the frustration of his exhausted dad combined with his inherently born-clumsiness, walked straight into the metal doorknob.

Are you freakin' kidding me!? thought an exhausted and already extremely frustrated Jarod as he listened to the billows of screams from his oldest son, who never fails to loudly notify us of any and I mean, ANY, discomforts he may feel, regardless of it's true scope in pain.

That was the last straw. The very last blow that pushed my husband and his sanity over the edge. The vibrant blood flooded through his veins, the fumes savagely escaped his skull and an inextricable force clenched the very being of his soul.

“Aiden!” exacerbated Jarod as he forcefully throw his own forehead into the wood of the door five consecutive times, “I have an owie too and I’m NOT crying.”

Yes, that's right; my husband through sheer frustration rammed his forehead into the wood door five times just like in the movies.

The tears bolted to a stop, the quietness ached and Aiden peered up at his father, his one guiding male role model, the man he would unknowingly resemble most, the man who would teach him the foundations of having a family, how to raise children and how to treat a woman, the man he would look to for advice, support and fatherly-comfort many times throughout his life, in horrid, shocked confusion.

A slight swelling began to arise on his forehead as Jarod regained his composure and in dreadful realization saw the scope of his brief moment of insanity through his child's eyes and thought to himself, I’m fucking crazy.

Proof that he's really an amazing father with just a few moments of temporary insanity :)

One click equals one vote; please click for the fact that Jarod's not really legitimately crazy (. . . just sometimes! :)