Wednesday, October 3, 2007

No Good Deed

Last night, concerned I wasn't spending enough on my children's sporting activities, I did some research on hitting and pitching clinics offered in our area. Several of my youngest son's friends are also interested and we're trying to find a group rate.

Things never go as planned in the Snag household. Having tucked myself away in what I thought was the relative safety of my basement office, I was soon joined by my youngest.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to sell you. No takers yet but I'm lowering the price."

He ignored me. "Hey, you're looking at hitting clinics. Is that for me?"

"Maybe," I answered. "It depends how irritated I am when it's time to write a check."

"How much does it cost?" he asked.

I told him. "Holy crap!" he said. "We could buy a Wii for that!"

"Yes," I said. "Or I could buy something I want."

He shook his head at my stupidity. "Are there any major leaguers who teach there?"

"Yes. One guy who used to play in the majors."

"Would I get him?"

"I don't know," I answered. "Maybe."

"If I don't get him I want the Wii instead." As usual, he thought the point was simply to spend as much of my money as possible.

"No," I said. "We already have an xBox and a bunch of xBox games and I'm not buying another stupid game system for you to fight over with your brothers. If you don't want to go to the hitting clinic I'll skip it."

He started backtracking. "No, no, I want to go."

At this point my middle son walked in. "Where's he going?" he demanded.

"Dad's sending me to a hitting clinic."

His brother shrieked. "WHAT?! That' s so unfair, I never get anything. I'm going to a basketball clinic then."

The younger one nodded. "Okay."

"Wait a second," I interjected. "This is my money. Besides, you," pointing at the middle one, "are already playing seventy-five hours of coached basketball in the next few months. Plus, your soccer team has a professional coach run clinics for you. That's plenty."

The middle one sneered and pointed at his brother. "He always gets everything. He's a spoiled, stupid baby."

"I'm not a baby!" howled the youngest, apparently conceding on spoiled and stupid.

I stood up and moved between them before it escalated. "Both of you get the hell out of here. Jesus, I even think about doing something nice and this is the kind of nonsense I have to deal with."

Snarling and snapping at each other, they retreated upstairs where they quickly moved on to the more pressing question of who the dog loves most. I clicked idly through some tropical resort websites, one for a Canadian fishing lodge, another that displayed Italian villas for rent. Not anytime soon, I thought, turning off the computer. Maybe they'll at least put me in a decent nursing home someday. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and headed upstairs to rejoin the family.


Mendacious D said...

There's a standing invite for the couch. I can't offer much more than that, other than Canadian beer and baked goods.

zombie rotten mcdonald said...

That's ridiculous.

It's obvious the dog loves ME the most.

Now, when do I get that Wii?