Parenting: Learn to Fucking Share!!!

There are times when it's hard to put into words what is on your mind, but as I screamed "IT'S JUST A FUCKING WATER BOTTLE!!!" at my 4.5 year old son, I had pretty accurately captured what I was thinking. An epic, water-bottle-centered, several-minute-long meltdown between my two sons had culminated in my turning into a raving lunatic, yelling at the top of my lungs.

Looking back on it: it's impressive that me, who is not much of a yeller, who doesn't have much of a temper, was driven to the edge of sanity by two Camelbak brand water bottles and two young men whose combined weight is less than 50 pounds.

The exact water bottles in question are pictured above. 

On the right you'll see Exhibit A: what had been the top-dog water bottle around our house. Calming colors, sure, but an assortment of sharks circling gives it that bad-ass quality that toddler boys really go for. We'd had this water bottle for a few years, and which son had possession of it had always been a point of contention.

We were about to go on a trip, so my wife figured that to avoid a water-bottle-dispute, she'd get another Camelbak brand water bottle. Exhibit B is on the left: same size and shape, but with some birds on it. 

Our parenting logic told us that things would go smoothly: each child would have their own 0.4 liter beverage receptacle. 

Our kids' logic told them that not being able to have the new, bird-decorated water bottle in their hands would be the single worst thing to ever happen to them since a day before when the bridge on the train set fell over while they were trying to cross it. 

"You know, I'd really like to have the new, bird water bottle," my 4.5 year old son and 2 year old son both said. 

Only when they said it, it sounded more like, "I WANT THE PINK WATER BOTTLE, AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! I! WANT! THE! ..... NOOOOOOO!!!!!! DON'T TAKE THAT!!!!!! NOOO!!!!!!!!!" accompanied by both of them lying on the floor, screaming  hysterically, interspersed with them getting up to try and rip the bird-focused water bottle from my hands, scratch my face, kick me, then get back on the floor to scream more. 

Now, I live with these kids, so I'm used to their steady stream of bullshit. But it should be mentioned that this particular life-or-death struggle for water bottle possession was taking place only moments before we were to head out on "vacation" (or as I now call it: traveling with toddlers). Our bags were all packed up. My wife and I were prepared. We were heading to the airport where we would board a plane bound for Scotland. The kids would fly to Edinburgh, then take a train through the picturesque highlands to my in-laws' house in the north which is not only right near sprawling beaches and castle ruins, but is also a farming estate with sheep, pheasants, dogs, pigs, chickens, large lawns, and two doting grandparents. 

My two sons were about to head to a little kid paradise for 3 weeks yet wouldn't get in the car because of beverage containers.

It should also be mentioned that, although money isn't everything, flying a family from Des Moines to northern Scotland cannot be purchased with smiles and sunshine. By that I mean it is pretty gol-dang expensive. Which is reason numero uno we don't have much furniture in our house.

It should also also be mentioned that the morning of our trip, both kids were given these fake, super-hero based smart phone toys that they'd been wanting for a while (neither my wife or I have smart phones, so it's a sad state of affairs when your kids would rather play with a fake smart phone than your real, low-fi cell phone). They were pretty pumped up about the phones, calling Spiderman and what not. The joy on their face with the introduction of something new is what keeps the kid-toy-industry humming along. Parents think they've got the perfect toy, and when their kids receive it, they are thankful, appreciative, and even a little, seemingly, happier.

But the bone-chilling rage that can also be unleashed with the introduction of something new is what keeps the Xanax-industry humming along. You get your kid the wrong product, or the product doesn't work properly, or the product meant for one child is wanted by your other child, and suddenly you're in a real life Holy Grail-selection scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when the old crusader coldly observes "He chose .... poorly" after the wrong Grail leads to a Nazi officer's face-melting and death.  

Each of those incidents makes you promise yourself that things are gonna be different from here on out, you're not gonna buy that little asshole anything ever again. 

But like a New Years Resolution to floss more, the no-more-stuff resolution fades pretty quickly, and you're not able to see the freight train of tantrum heading straight towards you as a new water bottled is introduced into the house. So there I am, in the middle of the train tracks, $4,000 poorer, and watching two spoiled brats fight over inanimate objects. And the surreal-ness of the situation was palpable. "Where did I go wrong?" I asked myself. "How in the living fuck did I get here? Is this really happening? Am I really watching two kids fight over water bottles like nothing else in the world matters?"

It was at that point I realized that Sam Levenson wasn't joking when he said, "Insanity is hereditary: you get it from your children."