A few weeks before Ava was born, I spent a lot of time in our home office, staring at the framed sports memorabilia, action figures and collectibles that I’d accumulated over the last 20 years. There were Legos and Pez, Bobbleheads, G.I. Joe’s and autographed baseballs. It was a wealth of evidence that demonstrated how I spent my free time before having kids. Every item had its own level of importance and when surrounded by my valuable keepsakes, I felt like Popeye after a healthy dose of spinach. I reeked of self-confidence and channeled immortality.
I have a crisp recollection of the day in which I first realized that, if we were expecting, this baby would most likely be moving into our house. And if this baby is moving in, then we’ll have to clear some space. As I milled over the potential options in my head, I discovered the logical choice was going to be dismantling my beloved man-cave and converting it into a girl’s nursery via the detonation of the color pink.
I had a few weeks before I needed to clean it out, but who could enjoy sitting in this room, knowing that everything was about to be pushed into the corners or taken to storage? It felt like watching someone close to you on life support, and I couldn’t bear the pain any longer, so I pulled the plug.
It’s tough to part with a bunch of junk that you think is valuable, but it wasn’t dying. It was just suffering the unfortunate fate of being stuffed into a dark, depressing storage unit down the street. I made excuses to myself as to why some things had to stay. I started shoving toys in the cabinets and under the bed in an effort to save them, but then, had an epiphany. I owned one remaining piece of real estate in our house. MY bathroom.
It was the bottom of the 9th, 2 outs and I stepped up to the plate to rally some sort of offensive and pitch my wife the idea of changing the theme in my bathroom. Forget about the jasmine scented soaps and embroidered hand towels from Barney’s. I pulled out the big guns and did what any real man would do:
I threw a dramatic tantrum in the middle of the supermarket. My plan worked perfectly. Address it in public and no one gets hurt. It was primarily embarrassing for her and I could tell by the way she was pushing the cart really fast that she wanted to get away from me, pronto.
NOTE: Tantrums are for 4 year-olds, but in rare cases they work for adults.
I ended up keeping the Pez dispensers, 500 wine corks (because seriously guys, I’m going to make that corkboard someday), the vintage signs and collectibles. To get my prizes off the showroom floor, I mounted everything to the wall or stuffed them into huge glass containers. Sure, I’m worried it’s a potential earthquake hazard, but this is all I have left people. These are the scraps of a once wealthy collection.
I operate my cluttered 9×9, toy-filled bathroom like a climate-controlled museum and access is now strictly monitored. It’s a fragile microcosm and in an effort to avoid sweat-bending any of the figurine cardboard, I’ve committed to taking brief, cold showers to eliminate steam. A small price to pay to be surrounded by good company. I do most of my hiding in there now, and I’ll admit, I can really cozy up, sitting on the hard plastic toilet seat lid feathering through a recent copy of the Beckett’s baseball card price guide.
Once I close the door, it’s like a full-on Calgon commercial. Take me away brother, Hallelujah! Like a rapper rolling in dollar bills, I dive in (try not to hit my head on toilet) and reminisce with my old friends. I enjoy the silence, avoiding a potential interrogation from Jen about whether or not I washed Ava’s socks inside out to reduce fading. The closed door also guarantees I won’t hear a shrieking baby.
From here on out, I figured that any important phone calls or meetings I’d be having are probably going to end up here, since it was now the quietest room in the house. And since I’m recently unemployed, I also moved the placard from my desk, the one with my name on it, into a prime position next to the soap dish.
So Mi Casa, Su Casa people, I’m taking meetings.
Lorene Memaw Mayer says
I love it. Everyone is entitled to a qiet room, but not when you have a little beautiful nine month old who needs your attention! you need a boy to share these priceless possessions. How about ordering one in a few months. no shipping charges!, well that is far from the truth, but worth the price.
E.J. says
Hate to drop this one on you Kulp…the tantrums start much earlier than 4 years old…
Jack says
Damn, I have to start throwing tantrums to see if they work for me. Kids might enjoy watching dear old dad lose it.
Judy Mayer Yager says
Hilarious, but I absolutely REFUSE to believe that beautiful little Ava can “shriek” and you must have pinched her to get that picture!
Jana Sandler says
Hysterical, I love this, once again. You have given me a great procrastination technique, reading your blog! Seriously the tantrum is a little much but worth the price of admission. Appreciate Ava as a baby cause she she will be a teen soon enough and you will revel in the days she couldn’t talk back.xxoo
Jan says
I Love It!! Too funny…
leelee says
Adrian, take it from a professional, don’t ever get rid of the detritus of life….. it is full of memories and visual satisfaction. I am proud of you for your ingenuity and marvelous museum display skills!
Allison says
Adult tantrums also work for 3 year old boys…When he started to throw a fit in the grocery store ( I think it might have been because he didn’t understand the concept of just because we are buying the food now, doesn’t mean that he can eat it now) I began to tell him that’s not how you throw a fit. I proceeded to throw my own fit; arms up in the arm, the stomping of feet, and the whinny voice explaining that I can’t even make a trip to the grocery store in under 45 minutes anymore…he stopped the crying looked at me, looked at the other people starring, and told me that I was embarrassing him. Ever since then he preps me before we enter the store about how we are not supposed to throw fits in the grocery store.
Philip says
Excellent write up! This is a great expose on the collision of man-space castigation and family manup-manliness… Our three year old started tantrums at about 2 yrs and would hurl himself to the floor and flail about and….nothing! No yelling, no screaming no nothing! We did NOT correct him on his technique…
I too learned the hard way about turning socks inside out. Who thinks about socks that much anyway?
Eefke says
Gods, I know how you feel. I’m 21 and live in a 12 by 12 foot room with one gigantic diagonal roof. Not much space, but I make it my own as much as I can. I collected postcards, book (lots and lot of books) decorative weapons like swords and stuff, venetian masks, collectables from movies, shells and many many other things that I can’t possibly begin to describe. My room is my parent’s hell 🙂 Still, when I see the bedrooms of others I find the lack of personality very tell-tale and no body can say they visited me and got bored because there is something to see in every little corner. Long live collecting!!!