"The Pop-Pop Chronicles", episode 2: "The Bachelor Pad???"

One of the things that used to really piss me off during my years with babymama was when I'd come home from work and find a room re-arranged or with newly purchased accessories in place. I mean, I appreciated that she wanted to put forth an effort into making the house look nice, but damn, how come I didn't get any input into how those changes would come about (I mean, it's not like she didn't have some say and/or control over any and everything else that went on; I couldn't get a say in where to put this, or what to buy to go there?). Her attitude about it was along the lines of, "You're a man, you don't know anything about this stuff; you don't need to have any input in this. Go take out the trash or cut the grass or something."

After babymama and I split, and I found myself on my own, living alone - for the first time, at age 40 - I figured I was going to learn everything I could about decorating and interior design and put together a bachelor pad to die for! HGTV became my favorite channel to watch, I spent as much time browsing assorted decorating magazines as I did my normal sports fare when I was in bookstores, and everywhere I went, I spent (too much) time checking out the decor and trying to figure which ideas I could steal  use as inspiration.

So I got my crib hooked up bit by bit, until it became a nice little bachelor pad. Nothing real fancy, no high end, overpriced items, nothing particularly trendy, but everything fit me. And along the way I took whatever advice and feedback I got to try to improve my little spot, but it the end, every choice was ultimately my own, so that my crib truly was someplace I looked forward to coming home to. And then after a few years of apartment living, I moved into a row house on the east side of Baltimore, nothing fancy, by any stretch of the imagination, but definitely a place full of all kinds of possibilities. My brain went into overdrive planning out ways to really create a stylish bachelor pad for myself.

But then...

"Daddy, can Darius (GC-2) and I (C-2b) move in with you?"

Sigh...

Don't get me wrong, I love all my children and grandchildren dearly, and I'd do anything for them, but...let's just say that I knew the notion of having a well-kept, nicely decorated home was about to go out of the window. In spite of (or perhaps because of)  being raised in a home run by the fanatically orderly babymama, keeping things neat is absolutely not a priority for C-2b. In fact, her slovenliness - along with the fact that she and the almost 30 year old, living with his disabled aunt (even his own mama wouldn't let him stay with her), unskilled, unintelligible (yet thoroughly convinced of his possession of skills and intelligence unrecognizable to anyone else on the planet), irredeemable dumb ass with whom she, for reasons unknown and unfathomable, chose to procreate (more on him in a future episode) didn't have a job between them - got her kicked out and, thus at my doorstep with a 5 month old baby in tow. So while no one would ever accuse me of being a neat freak, I had at least prided myself on having my home in a state where it was always visitor-ready; anyone could pop in at any time, and I wouldn't be the least bit embarrassed by anything that was seen once the visitor(s) came through the front door. But with the impending arrival of C-2b and GC-2, I had a bad feeling that was about to change. How little did I know...

In a little over two years, as C-2b has gone from not working to working nights, as GC-2 has gone from a 5 month old to a whirling dervish of a 2 and half year old, and they (we) have been joined by the arrival of GC-4 in April. As a result, my home has progressively gone from being a newly moved in sanctuary with fresh coats of paint, newly finished hard wood floors, and everything in its place to
an obstacle course of all manner of toys, shoes, boxes, strollers, and the like, not to mention a formerly immaculate set of furniture that seems gain a new stain every day, not to mention a sink that seems permanently full of dishes - well except for the ones that are left in every other room that C-2b eats in.

My living room has become something akin to C-2b's efficiency apartment (and believe me, "efficiency" is as big a misnomer as there is in this scenario); although she has a bed in her bedroom, the mountain of clothes and assorted junk piled on it tends to make it practically unidentifiable, and absolutely unusable (at least for sleeping). Thus anytime I come downstairs or through the front door, I am greeted with the snores of one or more of C-2b, her fiance, and/or one or both of the boys - to say nothing of the accompanying aroma of feet and morning breath...causing me to make a retreat as fast as possible through the obstacle course of junk back to my room, my retreat - or at least until C-2b starts getting ready for work, at which point it becomes another playground for GC #s 2 and 4...the end result being that even my poor bedroom tends to look like in  varying stages of disaster recovery...

So in short, friends, if you ever think of just dropping by the house...PLEASE...DON'T...