I want Big Brother at my house

He will have a nice pink glow the rest of the day

My daughter is upstairs, in her room, supposedly cleaning up. I’m enjoying the quiet, and try to get some work done; of course, I should know better. Quiet is not good, in fact, most of the time quiet is about the worst thing you can experience as a parent. ‘Quiet’ means something is brewing; the only thing you can do is work as fast as you can until all hell breaks loose.

And there it is: my son starts screaming, I walk upstairs and find a Very Red Boy. She has smeared maroon lipstick all over his face, in his hair, even inside his ears. Lipstick is not a good alternative to face paint if you consider the fact that it should eventually come off.

I pick him up, and try to clean him off as best as I can; unfortunately, I can’s scrub too hard, and so he’s going to look pinkish for the rest of the day. Nice.

You know what would be handy? If Big Brother made house calls. Trust me, they would come up with some interesting footage. Why is that show only for college age kids anyway? Is it because of the possibility of secret shenanigans in the bedroom? Because, in my opinion, that gets old after a while.

You wouldn’t need a very big cast either; put five kids age 4 to 10 in a house together, step back, and watch the chips fall. And you wouldn’t need an expensive Big Brother mansion, because they’d just tear it down anyway.

I volunteer my house. I have some friends with equally obnoxious kids who, I’m sure, would sign them up in a minute.
You know who you are.

For Big Brother show times, check CBS