What Comes Around Goes Around

It's nice having so many people relate to the stories I tell here. Lately several people have left comments suggesting what comes around goes around in regards to some of the crap I put my mother through growing up.

While I agree that whatever mayhem we impose upon our parents comes back tenfold to bite us in the ass with our own children, what isn't fair is that I also have to contend with all the bad stuff Mr. Lane did growing up. That wouldn't be so terrible, had Mr. Lane not been so terrible. Hell, he made me look like I was sitting still.

Yes paybacks are a bitch. I may have been bad by stuffing mashed potatoes into my overalls, but what my son did, had to be the go around result of his father's earlier wrongdoing. Lane 1 was only 5-years-old, and even though he is on his way to 13, this memory still haunts me, practically on a daily basis.

One day, when we lived in California, he was playing on our wraparound porch. We had a big toy box filled with his favorite outside toys right within his reach, that on most days would keep him occupied for hours. I was in the house getting Lane 2 dressed. Although I could see him, I couldn't always see what he was doing below the windowsill. He seemed to be playing and behaving.

When Lane 2 was ready to play outside too, she and I headed out. Lane 1 had some toys out of his toy box, which he had slid sideways. Assuming he moved the box to better reach his toys inside, I didn't give it another thought, until late that same night.

Both kids were tucked into bed so I thought I would get a head start on the laundry from the busy day. My first mistake was not watching the boy like a hawk. My second mistake was not listening to him tell me about the "friend" he made. The third mistake was checking his pants pockets before washing them.

Had mistake one and two not have happed, three wouldn't have either. I turned all of the clothes right side in for washing and emptied the pockets. When I got to Lane 1's pants from that fateful day, I reached in, then out, shook my hand in the air like a crack junkie having a fit. My mind wandered with what might be in that pocket that felt so disgusting.

Being as brave as any one mom army can, I peeked. Pockets are dark! I turned it toward the light, still couldn't see, so I shoved my hand back inside, holding my breath. I couldn't get it out of the pocket. It, whatever it was, had completely crusted itself to the inside of the pocket.

"Nothing good can come of this Lois! Throw the pants away. He's going to outgrow them in a week anyhow!" I said to myself.

Curiosity got the best of me and I turned the pocket inside out. First I screamed, then I threw the pants, then I called for my husband, whose fault it must have been.

"Look in that pocket! Tell me that isn't what I think it is!"
Mr. Lane screamed like a girl. "What the fuck?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking! He's your son!"
"He's yours too!"
"Okay, heads or tails?"
"I am not flipping for who is taking it out. Laundry is your thing."
"Excuse me? Oh no sir, you did not just say that! I gave you the chance to win fair and square and because of your smart ass attitude, it's all yours Daddy!" I flung the pants back at him.
"But..."
"Save it!"

I thought Mr. Lane would cry as he peeled the lizard tail out of the pocket lining. Yes, I did say lizard tail.

The next day when Lane 1 woke up, I asked about his "friend" he tried to tell me about the day before.

"He was so funny Mommy! I tried catching him and he took off his tail. Hahaha!"
"Son, why did you put the tail in your pocket?"
"Because I know he's coming back for it soon."
"Really? And how do you know this?"
"Because he lives under my toy box and when he comes home and can't find his tail, he's going to find me."

I had this whacked out vision of a lizard going completely bonkers looking for his stolen tail running through my head, and was sure it was going to be Fox TV's next big special, "Lizards Gone Wild". We don't need Maury Povich, this child was obviously his father's son, for no amount of mashed potatoes stuffed into overalls could possibly deserve this type of punishment.
Let this be a public service announcement for those of you who aren't yet married. Choose your spouse very carefully. Check into their background. Talk to their mom first and find out what kind of shit you might be in for, should you have children with this person.

I am Lois Lane, and I support this message.