Oh where

is my metronome?
Not there!
My poor metronome.
Oh where oh where
Oh where oh where
Oh where oh where
Oh where oh where
Oh where-e-ere -e-ere-e-ere-e-ere
Is my metronome?

It used to be in the compooter room. Now it is not. I actually sat down to practice the old guitar today, given how clean the compooter room is now (though still not "done" and thus no final pictures), and I wanted to work through three fills in "Knock on Wood" to get them up to full speed, and I couldn't find my metronome. I politely asked The Mrs. if she had seen it when she was cleaning, and she suggested a couple places to look that I had already looked multiple times. So I said, "I'll just buy a new one. This one is always disappearing."

Then she huffed at me and stormed out of the room to go look for it, since the main reason it is always disappearing is that she bought herself a Dr. Beat, and it's too darned complicated for most uses. So the simple metronome gets "borrowed" and never returned. The best part of having a Dr. Beat is that you get to use this line over and over and over without it ever getting less funny:

Did you remember to turn Dr. Beat off?

Shortly after the huffing and storming, The Mrs. returned empty-handed and without a word to say. Didn't even make eye contact. Heh.

Tonight, I got to "parent" for a little while. Then, The Mrs. decided I was an idiot, and she took over. It was my job to put little HannieC to bed, as it always is. She was resistant, as she always is. I was persistent, as I always am. Today, I made up a little song, sung to the tune of "The Farmer in the Dell". It went like this:

Oh Daddy doesn't care.
Oh Daddy doesn't care.
You might as well stop complaining;
Daddy doesn't care.

Don't brush your teeth.
Don't floss your teeth.
Let all your teeth fall out.
Daddy doesn't care.

Oh Mommy isn't here.
Oh Mommy isn't here.
She's not going to let you stay up,
And Daddy doesn't care.

Then, naturally, The Mrs. showed up and took over. She is convinced I am incompetent, which is at times a convenient misconception all around. I get to not do stuff, and she gets to be a control freak.

Everybody's a winner!

So HannieC was whining about how she couldn't go to bed because she was too hungry. She ate very little of her dinner. Then she filled up a bowl with candies and sat down to eat them about a half hour later. I let her eat 5, and that was it. She waited until we were on the way up the stairs to start complaining about hunger. First it started out with her needing ice cream before she could go to bed.

But Daddy didn't care.

Then, she switched to the starving angle, and insisted she needed an apple.

But Daddy didn't care.

When The Mrs. took over, I did a Karl Rove and disappeared into the shadows. But I noticed immediate quiet from HannieC, and in fact she began to brush her teeth. So I investigated. I discovered The Mrs. in the kitchen washing an apple. Ah Ha! Now was my chance.

Are you rewarding her tantrum?

That went over well. Luckily, I did a Karl Rove and disappeared into the shadows, where I kept up the search for my metronome. Unsuccessfully.

The apple is still sitting on the counter now. 2 hours later.

Now, those of you out there who are married are all nodding to yourself. You're saying, "Yes, we took some damage, but we took the hill." You need to choose your battles.

At times, I wonder if I am just a glutton for punishment. But then I read something like this, and it brings it back into perspective. That's quite a leg crosser.

Now, where in the hell is my metronome?