My Little Mata Hari, Sans the Exotic Dancing

In my house the numbers game seems to be my biggest obstacle. No matter how close Kalen and I get, she’s still and always will be mommy’s little girl. Whether the battle is a rousing game of dog pile or just some good ol’ bare knuckle fisticuffs between me and the wife, she will always have mom’s side. Sure I have Murph. But if the four of us squared off in a tag team cage match, he’d probably be more interested in chewing on the turnbuckle then watching my back. So in the battle of sexes of my house, I remain down by one… it might as well be one hundred.

I’ve read that in any war it is almost always wise to hide your strengths until the time is perfect, my two girls flaunt it blatantly. They plot girl’s night days in advance of me working at the bar. They shout their battle cry of “GIRL POWER!” when performing sneak attacks and frontal assaults. They send secrets to and fro across battle lines openly and daily.

And I suffer their audacity.

Although there does seem to be a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Better days may lie ahead. And no... I don’t mean my wife is carrying a miniature me in here belly basket. (Again, that is a blog hopefully a little ways down the road.) No, I am talking about a pint sized turncoat in the guise of a four year old with an angel’s facade.

In the last month or so I’ve noticed that Kalen listens to my request from time to time. I’ve managed to convince her to give mom a whippin’ when I feel she’s acting up. Sometimes, when mom is lying on the couch, I’ve even convinced the Kalenator to use the nuclear bomb of our house war… the wet wily.

Yeah, I feel like the tides of war are starting even out. I am gaining ground in this household. That is unless mom and daughter are luring me into a false sense of security. I might have underestimated my adversary, thus creating the perfect trap. Perhaps she’s training her daughter in the art of espionage, creating a pint sized double agent. The conniving harlots, this means that I now have to be further on my toes.

And these two have already caused me to have the toes ballerina.

Please see this blog as a rallying cry, a call to arms for the men of this world. Surely someone has seen this scenario play out. Someone has to have some words of advice. I can’t be on this island alone… can I?

Any help that could aid my cause would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks in advance - J