26.9.06

philoprogenitiveness n :

1 love for one's own children
2 a city in China

The O-Dog and the Fletchmonster are at times like f*cking Shiites and Sunnis.

O-Dog: Fletchmonster, you're a baybeeeeee...
Fletchmonster: Waaaaauahghhgh. Stupid Odie. Stupid. Stupid.

(slap. pull. bite.)

O-Dog: AAAAAAAHHHH. He bit me!

Prego: (muttering) jesus f*cking christ. Hey, man. You started it.

This scenario, or any of a number of variations and permutations are a daily occurrence in the Prego household. Matchbox cars are chucked, bodies fly off of couches, siblings are tortured... Baghdad is a more peaceful place than my living room.

Frankly, I just try to keep them from killing each other while somehow creating that bond that will hopefully exist when I go grudgingly to my grave. Sh*t, part of the reason there is a Fletchmonster is because I didn't want the O-Dog to be by himself after the missus and I become fertilizer. I know that first-hand, since my mom passed away. Though my dad still thankfully has a pulse, he lives seven-hundred miles away -- that means that if I find myself in a hell-of-a-predicament, I at least have my brother and sister nearby... and the missus, of course.

The way the Fletchmonster and O-Dog go at it, though, you wonder if that relationship will ever exist.

39 Year Old Fletchmonster: Yeah, I have an older brother, but that f*cker and I haven't talked in 37 years, since he turned off the TV while I was watching "Scooby Doo Meets Batman & Robin."

or

Mrs. O-Dog: Honey, why don't you invite the Fletchmonster over for Thanksgiving Dinner?
43 Year-Old O-Dog: Why, so he can pull my hair, call me stupid and scribble all over my Maurice Sendak novels? F*ck that.

I know the reality. My own brother and I can't agree on lunch on any given day. We stopped whaling on each other in 1986, I believe... but I'd still step in front of a truck for the bastard (or at least try to pull him to safety.) As far as holiday dinners go, he does call me stupid... but then again, I accidentally scratched the side of his convertible once...

It's likely the O-Dog and Fletchmonster's beer-swilling arguments will be lively, but I know they won't be bad enough to involve the authorities. I have a feeling my boys will be all right.

The other day after soccer practice, O-Dog picks up his snack and drink from his coach an we take the walk back to the car. The routine is to open the O-Dog side first, let him sit in his booster, then come around to the Fletchmonster's side to buckle him into the car seat - go back to the O-Dog and help him strap himself in before I go back to the driver's seat.

As I got back in the car I turn back to see the O-Dog has opened his Rice Krispies treat, broken it in half and handed a piece to the Fletchmonster, without saying a goddamned word. It was at that point that philoprogenitiveness caused a hint of tears welling up in my eyes and my cholesterol-coated heart to warm over.

Yeah... my little f*ckers are going to be all right.

5 comments:

Suzanne said...

There is something about the relationship between brothers...

I grew up in a household of only girls: just my sister and myself. While there was definitely some physical torture that happened when we were little (my sister, who is two years older, used to chase me around, pin me on the floor and spit on me, until I outgrew her by five inches), our arguments were more girly in nature, i.e. "That's my sweater!" "Get out of the bathroom!" "You're a brat!" "I had to wait till I was __, why doesn't she?"

In 2004, I went to Atlanta to baby sit my sister's two boys (10 & 12, at the time) when she & her husband went to the Kentucky Derby, and the rapid shifts in dynamics between the boys was stunning. Things would be going great, we'd all be having fun, and suddenly fists would be flying. I learned to step in quickly, before any real damage could be done.

Occasionally, Scooter, the older one, would do something nice or thoughtful for Andy, without prodding and I felt the same way as you.

Pickalish said...

Of course they'll be alright. I have one little sister, and we never spoke to each other until we were 18 and 20. And there's only 22 months between us. We didn't play together, walk to school together, have anything in common....we are POLAR opposites. Once reaching adulthood, however, we are now absolutely certifiable bestest buds. It works out.

However, this post is EXACTLY why I CHOSE to have one child. No matchbox flinging for me, i'd kill someone.

~A~ said...

Remember Rob and I and the watermelon? And we're pretty close even though we have words every now and then. But that's because I wanted a sister.

I'll have to finish up a post that's been in my drafts for a while. It's sort of along the same lines as this one.

Carrie said...

Yes your little f*ckers will be okay. My brother tortured me too but I love him so much. He still wishes that our parents would have given him a brother but sh*t happens.

That is a very sweet story of your little f*ckers.

jennypenny said...

Aw thats so sweet. Maybe they will be close when they get older. I dont know what it is about siblings that is so infuriating. I swear my brother instantly regress 20 years when we are near each other. The hair pulling and scratching and biting is so not cute at our age.