How Did We Let Them Take Over?

For everyone who missed watching “The Middle” last night, I highly suggest you fire up your laptop and log on to Hulu. After talking with friends today I realize that the show topic resonates with everyone universally.


The show opens with the mom, Frankie, dashing into the house carrying a variety of take-out bags and calling out, “I’ve got dinner, come and get your bag.” The kids rush in and she doles out the bags, tacos for one kid, a burger for the other, egg-rolls for the next, all from different take out restaurants. Her husband says, “Where’s my bucket of chicken?” She sighs and says, “I’m sorry, Mike, I already had to go to three restaurants to get the kids food and I didn’t feel like going to another one, so you get a chicken salad from the taco place.” Mike puts his hands on his hips and says, “When did the kids take over our lives?”

Epiphany. When did they? So Frankie and Mike vow to take back their lives. They vow to not let their kids boss them around and the results are hilarious. The kids just can’t figure out what to think when they come home and find the house clean with a pile of toys and clothes in the middle of the floor. Mom tells them to dig through and take what they want, but the rest of it is getting thrown away. So Mom’s happy and the kids are miserable. No more homework help and no more using the big T.V. to watch Hanna Montana. For kids who are used to parents who put the children’s needs first, the shock of it is too much.

And the entire time I’m watching the show, my daughter is jumping in front of me crying because I can’t manage to stuff a boot onto a Barbie’s foot. Have you seen the shape of Barbie feet? It’s impossible, but she expects me to do it, and she has zero problem interrupting me to get it done. Meanwhile, my son is on the computer supposedly doing homework except that he’s asking me what to write every two minutes until I give up and do it for him—which I’m sure is the outcome he was working for in the first place.

My children all expect me to import other children to our house on the weekends—one per kid, because they don’t want to play with each other. And I don’t even really like other children. The funny thing is that I can’t remember playing with anyone except my sister growing up, and Mom expected us to work out our own fun. Now my kids think I’m going to run them to the jump house place all the time or carpool a bunch of pre-teens to the movies.

When did things change? My parents were good at their job. We all grew up with a minimum of bloodshed, had plenty of hugs and managed to be functional adults, but I’m pretty sure Mom would laugh at the idea of enrolling a toddler into Mommy and Me sing-a-long class. And yet, when the school discovered that my incoming kindergartener couldn’t read, they placed her in an additional remedial class. Sorry, but I wasn’t aware that she was supposed to be able to count to 100, read, spell basic words and do simple math before entering school. I thought that’s why we enroll our kids in school.

It’s no wonder we’re all crazy and popping anti-depressants. You’re doomed if you do cater to your kids, and doomed if you don’t. All I know is that I like the idea of taking my house back. I love the thought that I might be able to get up in the middle of the night without stepping on a GI Joe. I’m not sure it’s possible at this point, but a girl can dream.