When You Suspect Your Toddlers of Foul Play

I’m convinced my children are out to get me. Like they might have put a hit out on me. I say this because there are a suspicious number of ways they have tried to hurt, maim, or otherwise injure me over the years.  

For instance, they leave toy trucks out in an effort to trip me. And not just inside the well-lit house but right outside the dark garage door in ambush-style attacks.

They also take the stool out of the bathroom and leave it right next to the refrigerator so that last step toward the fridge ends up being the last step before falling into the fridge.

The boys will spill water on the floor and “clean it up.” And by cleaning it up I mean dragging a towel through it so there’s only a sheen of liquid on the surface of the kitchen tiles that as slick as ice and yet nearly invisible.

The 3-year-old really upped the ante by a factor of 100 by bringing my wife into the mix. And also electricity. He found a metal key ring, unplugged the humidifier in his room, and placed the key ring around the prongs of the power cord, and then plugged it into the wall. Nothing happened. When my wife saw the power cord not all the way into the wall, she pushed it in and sparks flew like an exploding firework when it arced.

Thankfully she wasn’t hurt, but these sort of intentional accidents sound more like an accusation from a game of Clue (the 3-year-old, in the bedroom, with the electrical plug) than the everyday accidents of a typical home.

Or how about when I was throwing pitches to the 7-year-old and he kept missing the ball until I moved up and then he crushed it right back at me -- in the spot where an athletic protector would have been deeply appreciated.

While I rolled around on the grass moaning for five minutes I heard him say to his brother that he thought this was a home run. Which I’m pretty sure is hit-man speak for successfully taking out your target.

Add to that the cruel and unusual punishment of littering the floor with little Lego pieces in order to torture my bare feet and I think I’ve proved my case. I’m telling you, they’re out to get me.

However, if you think their accidental assassinations are just that and that my kids haven’t put a hit out on me you must at least concede this: It's still a dangerous job being their parent.