We’ve been running ragged for as long as I can remember. My kids and I are tired of our schedule, but not willing to give anything up, so we keep going until one of us drops.
Someone in this picture is winning, but I really don’t know who.
It’s like a game.
I think I can win this game. I have more weapons in my arsenal (money, car keys, smartphone, calendar, lock on the outside of the basement door, etc), while their strongest ammunition is youthful verve and willingness to band together with their profound precocity. To conspire. Against me.
Winner Winner Chicken Dinner! I’ve got this one in the bag.
Sometimes when we come home from being away all day, we just veg in front of the television for awhile and wait for our vestibular systems to calm their business down. This is also when we decide if we have good attitudes or if we’re going to descend into chaos. As they get older, we all choose chaos less, but it’s always creeping around our perimeters.
“It’s not magic! It’s physics. The speed of the turn is what keeps you upright. It’s like a spinning top.” Says Deborah Bull. Well, F-U Deborah Bull. It *is so* magic! And maybe overscheduling. But mostly magic.
Last week (haven’t posted in a few days on account of the game), we settled in for our electronic meditation time. We were in good, yet tired, spirits. Companionable even. I don’t like the kids watching tons of commercials, so we usually opt for DVRd stuff, or pre-recorded programs.
Not this day! We were letting it all hang out
We were planning to squeeze the Charmin,
Even Bob Dylan can’t help himself.
make the donuts,
This is an actual book cover. It exists. Fresh Hot Glazed Make those donuts! Make them good!
and ponder the burning sensations in our nethers and taints.
I vote “entertainment”. I mean, no one is going to get out of this alive. Death, with or without explosive medical diarrhea, is a certainty.
Drug commercials are some of the most entertaining.
We didn’t wait long before the first meat hook claimed a Beeler victim. Of course it was E, my 6 year old.
“We need one of those Roomba machines!”
I know the kids have been wanting one since they saw it on America’s Funniest Home Videos, or AFV for true fans of the show.
We have cats, the boys have ideas.
It’s a versatile vacuuming robot machine. Also takes on the fight between good and evil.
“What are you talking about? I asked him. “You don’t even vacuum!”
Crickets. Sometimes they punctuate silence.
I continued to fling feces all over his great idea. “I think the person who vacuums should decide if we actually need a robot to help us vacuum.”
“So,” no beats missed, “dad needs to decide if we get a Roomba?”
Ouch. His aim is true, the black-hearted brigand.
N snorted. I don’t know how I should have interpreted that.
Schrute knows. N doesn’t. N needs to stop laughing at his mom’s expense.
I do vacuum. They just don’t realize that I do it after they go to bed. Punks.
They thoroughly appreciate Jeff, so maybe it’s a chromosomal magnetism thing. Perhaps they are repelled by girl cooties? I’ll have to think on this some more.
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