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After a morning of yard work and two trips to Home Depot, this is just what he needed.
As soon as Grant uttered the words “Can we watch…” he raced them both to the couch and flicked on the TV, eager to stop moving for a bit.
“Let’s watch Toy Story!”
“Nah, buddy, we watched that like two days ago. How about Shrek?”
“I don’t like Shrek!”
Well you’ve got bad taste then.
“How about Monster’s, Inc.?”
Grant screamed, “YES! We haven’t watched that movie in forever!”
We watched it on Thursday, but whatever.
The pair settled on the couch to watch the exploits of Mike and Sully. Feeling his eyes heavier with each passing “Wasowski!” and knowing Grant was content next to him, it was time to give in for some quick Zs.
The scratching noise was getting louder and louder. What was that? Almost like a soft tapping, sometimes a bit longer than a tap. He wasn’t too familiar with that noise, what could it—
Then his eyes snapped open. Had he been snoozing for five hours or three minutes, it was hard to tell. Nothing rattled your sense of time like a dad nap. He quickly addressed his surroundings. The television was still on, very early in the movie. However, Grant had abandoned ship and was no longer sitting next to him.
I must’ve really been out, normally I wake up when he decides to quit on a movie.
He called for him. “Grant?”
No response from Grant, but the scratching noise that had disturbed his slumber ceased.
Ah, shit. That can’t have been a coincidence.
Rising from the couch, his gut instinct took him to the next room over. Turning the corner he saw a guilty-as-fuck Grant trying unsuccessfully to hide a brown crayon behind his back.
Motioning to the wall, he sheepishly said, “Look, I drew you a lion.” On their tan walls was a significant scribble of brown crayon.
Slightly stunned and upset with himself for sleeping too deep, he simply said, “Grant. You’re in trouble.”
And that doesn’t look anything like a lion.
You know, if Mr. Incredible would’ve been a bit nicer to Buddy and nudged that kid to therapy instead of shunning him, could’ve saved everyone a lot of grief in this movie.
Another day, another movie. He and Grant were having a lazy Saturday night with a viewing of The Incredibles. They’d hit up Six Flags earlier in the day and both father and son were feeling some exhaustion setting in.
He looked at Grant — his eyelids looked a little heavy. Considering he’d walked about a mile and a half and ridden every ride his height allowed just a few hours earlier, it wasn’t surprising. There was a solid chance he might just fall asleep for the night right there on the couch.
“Gonna watch for ten more minutes then head upstairs for bed, buddy, okay?”
Grant grunted in acknowledgment, zoned in on Elastigirl trying to avoid the plane she was flying being destroyed by rockets. His father started to get lost in his thoughts about the movie.
Elastigirl is low-key wife goals. Need more like her on Bumble.
They’re both better parents than me. I’d have been using Dash’s wheels to win so many middle school track and field bets.
This sequel better have 100 times more Samuel L. Jackson and his wife. NEED that.
A crash and splash made him jump off the couch like OJ had burst through his door holding a knife and two black gloves. He realized he’d dozed off in his thoughts and yet again not realized Grant slinking off the couch.
As he turned around, he immediately located the source of the commotion. Grant was standing on a chair by the counter. On the floor was a now mostly empty half-gallon of milk; it’d been 3/4th full previously.
The half-gallon’s contents were in a variety of places: all over the counter, floor, and Grant. He looked at his father.
“Oh sorry, Dad, I was thirsty,” with the air of someone who had just dropped something much less messy on the floor.
“Uh, buddy, how about next time asking me for some milk? It’s everywhere… it’s even in your hair, how is that possible?”
Grant shrugged, then started slurping milk off the counter like a dog.
This episode of Paw Patrol seemed to be lasting three hours.
I should’ve been doing the DadGum Podcast drinking game on this one.
“Grant, do you want to watch something else? This episode is…” he trailed off as his son ignored him.
This show fucking sucks, son.
As he sat there wishing these talking dogs would do something cool (like investigate a triple-homicide), Grant got off the couch and went to grab the toy baseball sitting on top of his toy box. Right away, he hurled it against the wall, then fielding it off the rebound.
“Hey! Easy, buddy, try not to destroy the wall.”
He’d long told Grant he was welcome to throw the ball in the house, mostly to try to encourage him to get into sports but also because he didn’t have much of value anyways. It was a bit strange for Grant to abandon Paw Patrol to start playing ball, but he wasn’t going to complain.
Grant started throwing the ball harder and harder against the wall and getting a little too close to the TV for comfort.
“Okay, Grant, time to chill out, come sit down and finish this show.
Grant looked at his father then heaved the ball once more, this time sailing it into the TV with a mortifying crack.
He jolted awake like he’d been given an Inception-style kick. Frantically looking at the non-cracked TV to Grant who was still calm next to him, he started to feel relief wash over him. Collecting himself, he said, “So how’s this episode, buddy?”
“It’s fine, stop wriggling around Dad, don’t fall asleep. Watch my show.”
I might have to stop taking dad naps. .
If you’re enjoying following “PostGrad Single Dad,” be sure to go listen to the latest episode of “The DadGum Podcast,” live on Grandex Labs.