I can’t watch R-rated movies, unless I sneak one in late at night when they’re not awake. I have to eat my vegetables at dinner, even though I hate them. On the rare occasion I get to go on a date, I have to be home by 11:30 or else I am fined.
Sleeping in is a rarity, and when it happens I’m still rudely awakened several hours too early. I have to go to church — including Sunday school — every Sunday. When they’re watching, I’m not allowed to cuss. If I snack, I better make sure I have enough for everyone and it’s a designated snack time.
I’m not a teenager living under my parents’ roof. I’m a father of three young boys. And they have more control over me than my parents ever did.
I didn’t plan for this U-Turn in my life. I knew parenthood would change my life, I just didn’t think it would restrict my life so much.
Over the past month, the movies I’ve seen are Kung Fu Panda 2, Cars 2, The Lion King, The Zookeeper and The Muppets. I did manage to sneak a peek of two grown-up movies, but I fell asleep during Bad Teacher and was too scared to finish Paranormal Activity 3. And seeing a movie at the theatre? Only if I want to see Chipwrecked in 3-D with a hundred other talkative kids, and spend $20 on popcorn and candy. No thanks.
All my saved high definition Dexter and Boardwalk Empire episodes on my DVR have been bumped by new episodes of Spongebob Squarepants, Jake and the Neverland Pirates and Wild Kratts.
My iPod is dominated with songs from Disney soundtracks, The Chipmunks and The Wiggles. At least I have an Academy-Award winning song on there: “Man or Muppet.”
The restrictions don’t end with technology. I am lucky to be married to an awesome cook. Unfortunately, she always cooks vegetables, too. I used to politely decline, but now while we’re challenging our sons to eat their vegetables, I’ve been informed that I must eat them too. One time I tried to escape when my wife prepared my most dreaded vegetable: cooked carrots. I just didn’t put any on my plate. The kids noticed, and I ended up scarfing some down.
I also must always watch my language. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a potty mouth. But the occasional s-word will slip out after a spill, a step on an always-sharp Lego piece or a bad move on an iPhone game. The latter got me in trouble recently, when my 4-year-old heard me let an s-bomb slip. He repeated me — several times — but in a silly mood, my wife and I couldn’t stop laughing to address it appropriately. Finally, Carla built up the proper serious face to address it, and little Jackson replied, “But I always lose, too.”
Great. I’ve tarnished him at 4. And every time I let a little of my “bad habit” adulthood slip into my daily regimen in front of my kids, I fear they lose a little bit of childhood.