The TV has, once again, become a babysitter in our house. Yes, I admit to doing that a bit when my kids were young. This is why I know every line and every song from the Lion King which was played on a continuous loop in our house.
Dad adores TV in a passive kind of way. He sits and stares at it. For him, it seems to be a bit of home in this new place. I allow it.
Yesterday, I was able to leave the house and play tennis - my hobby and now my salvation. I came home and asked if everyone was alive and/or well and were there any issues.
Mom: Well, we had trouble with the remote.
Cut to me glancing at my Dad who is now watching the cable preview channel.
Mom: We couldn't find the mute button.
Cut to me glancing at the coffee table where Kleenex is shredded.
Me: What's up with the Kleenex?
Mom: Dad was stuffing it in his ears so he didn't have to hear the TV.
Cut to me with my face buried in my hands.
I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.
No comments:
Post a Comment