The Daver took a record three days off in a row, and I was bound and determined to Do Something Together, Damn It: As A Fucking Family while he was off work. Something other than sitting around the house together, occasionally arguing about who feels worse. Daver, God love him, had a cold, and when he has a cold, I consider asking him to spend the night at work. And by “asking” I mean “insisting.”
He’s a great guy, obviously I wouldn’t have married him if he weren’t, but he’s the sort who expects sympathy cards and potentially parades thrown in his honor when he’s sick. And if, God forbid, we have the same illness, his is always far worse than mine. I’ll need a tissue while HE needs a blood transfusion. STAT, if not sooner.
On he soldiered, I must add here, and we ended up Doing Something Damn It each day he was off. Something included checking out encased meats in Chicago, followed by a whirlwind visit to the Lincoln Park Zoo, and yesterday we pilgrimaged to Lake Geneva to Go To A Beach (for Ben).
Honestly, I like being busy, and it’s something I’ve had to adjust to not being now that I’m home with the kids. Sure, I could pack them up in the car and try and do something like this without another adult, but since I’m not (yet) certifiable, I don’t.
I am, according to my informal poll, conducted by myself, in the minority. And I wonder if it’s because my kids are not Easy Kids or if it’s something to do with my lack of bravery. Everywhere I went, women had teeny tiny wee babes (I’m talking newborn sized here) while I struggled with whichever non-newborn child I was tasked with caring for (and I feel compelled to add that as newborns they were both far, far worse than they currently are. Baby Steps).
Without further adieu, I present Fights I Had On My Summer Vacation:
*Kiddie Cocktails Are The Devil’s Drink
*I Wanna Get Dooooooowwwwnnnn!
*I Wanted My Owwwwn Snow Cone
*This Car Seat Is The Work Of Satan
*I Want, Well, SOOOOMEETHING!
*I SAID Mac ‘n’ Cheese, You Ignorant Bitch!
And I’ll let you decide who fought with me about what.
I’m sure they were there, but I saw no one, and I mean NO ONE having fights with their kids. I saw no one else looking around to see if there were some gypsies available to sell children to. No one else looked like they were deciding if they could potentially hide in the bathroom until their family left. And yet, this is how I spend pretty much every time we go out anywhere. Fighting about stupid crap (and that’s just with Dave!).
Riddle me this: am I alone in my children behaving as beasts when we’re out supposedly having a Good (fucking) Time? Do I need to get over the idea of having fun myself during Family (fucking) Fun Time?