Saturday used to be Transman’s favorite day of the week. He would wake up late, get a bowl of sugary goodness, and sit in front of the TV watching cartoons like Scooby-Doo and Hong-Kong Phooey. Then, he might go outside and ride his bike for a while or explore in the woods. Then, he would come back inside, have a snack and watch Creature Feature with his big brothers.
Now Saturdays suck. Transman has to get up, feed everyone in the house including the flea-bitten ungrateful cat, go the grocery store, do laundry, attempt to impose order on the chaos of his home, grade papers, do some freelance work, etc.
Transman hates doing chores with his kids in tow. Yes, he knows he could incorporate them into the division of labor, but a) there are child labor laws in the U.S., and b) he would just have to redo what they do anyway, so why not cut out the middle man (or child, as is the case here).
Son 1 attempts to clean things up when he causes major destruction. Three nights ago, the lad got up to get a drink of water and a bottle of Coke fell out of the fridge and exploded sending syrupy spray across the floor, up the walls, and over the cabinets. He threw a towel over the mess and then stomped up the stairs to wake his Transdaddy for help. Transman is glad the boy did not just leave the mess and go back to bed because those giant ants from Them! would have been in the kitchen the next morning ready to eat the cat and children. Still, he would have appreciated if the lad had stuck around to do some of the scrubbing instead of saying, “I’m gonna go lay down; I’m tired.”
Son 2 has earned the nickname “Destructo” fair and square. There isn’t a wall in the world that has escaped his “modifications.” Even when deprived of real art supplies, Son 2 happily uses hot sauce, mustard, ketchup, etc., to paint murals. Books and magazines get shredded under his enthusiastic hands. Dishes spontaneously shatter when he walks by. Windows crack in their panes and furniture folds in on itself. His mantra is “If it ain’t broke, fix that.”
Transman just told Son 2 to get dressed so they could go to the store. He disappeared for five minutes, then came back still in his skivvies with a Snidely Whiplash mustache drawn on himself with blue and red makers and a patch of hair cut out of his scalp. He was clutching a box of bandages.
“I need a Band-aid,” the boy said and sat down and started putting bandages on his legs in a striped pattern.
“Don’t waste those. We may need them if you get hurt,” Transman said.
“I won’t get hurt,” the boy said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Still, stop wasting them,” Transman said, taking the box away and pointing to the bedroom. “Go get dressed.”
Transman is pretty certain the boy will come back dressed as Spiderman or with shorts, a t-shirt, a tie, and a fedora. We will never get to the grocery store and because of all the costume changes and condiment painting, we will have 27 loads of laundry to haul to the laundry-mat.