It's Quiet Here. Too Quiet

My Lovely Bride's birthday was this week and while being married to me is gift enough, the boys thought their mother deserved something more.

"Let's get her an iPod shuffle," they suggested.

"You mean, 'Dad, buy her something and we'll take credit for it' don't you?" I said.

They stared at me without comprehension. I get more response from the dog. "Whatever," they said. "Just go get it."

So I did, a silver one as specified by my oldest. I toyed with the idea of getting her a bigger one, but she's always said the shuffle holds plenty. She's oddly unenthusiastic about classics like Jethro Tull's "Bungle in the Jungle" and Neil Diamond's "Cracklin' Rosie." Her loss.

In our household, wrapping presents means shoving them in a bag, so there wasn't a lot of ribbon cutting but she was nevertheless appropriately excited when she saw it. We set it up and loaded it with songs and after listening to it for a few minutes she gave in to the demands of our youngest and let him try it out.

When she finally pried it back off his head, he looked at me and said, "I want an iPod."

Oh Jesus, here we go.

"I want a million dollars. We're both out of luck," I told him.

"I never get anything."

"Huh? I bought you a new baseball bat last week. It cost a fortune." It did, too. Bats apparently come with technology nowadays.

"That doesn't count," he said.

"Why? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I need it for baseball."

"Look," I said. "First of all, you didn't need it. Second, baseball's not your job, it's something you do for fun. It's not like I got you school supplies for your birthday."

"You never got me anything for my birthday. So I should get an iPod."

"Yes we did," I answer. "We got you golf clubs."

"I needed those."

"You won't need them in the foster home you're going to."

Fortunately, my Lovely Bride took the kids away for the weekend. They left yesterday and about an hour later I started getting text messages from my oldest.

The first one read, "R family sucks."

There's certainly evidence to support that idea, I thought.

A few minutes later I got another one. "Mom says she's in hell."

"What's going on now?" I asked.

"The dork's still mad about the iPod. He keeps saying he never gets anything and nobody loves him. Mom says she's going to leave him on the side of the road."

"Fine by me."

But she didn't, and he'll be home tomorrow with the rest of the family. In the meantime, I'll be putting a bat and golf clubs up for sale on eBay. At least that's what I told him.

There's no place I'd less rather be tomorrow than that car on the ride home.