Ah, yes. The good old-fashioned family vacation. Whose idea was this anyway? To shove a truckful of kids into a car, set off on a cross-country trek and call it anything other than a trip to the world's most evil dentist for a root canal with no Novocaine? I mean, think about it. We have the ability to be anywhere in the contiguous United States in 5 hours or less. What are we thinking and why do we care so much about the other two hundred and some odd poor souls we would be subjecting our innocent little offspring to?
We long for yesterday; for a simpler time when we spent every waking hour with our family and went everywhere together. But, what made those times seem so special, when these days it seems like a prison sentence, being subjected to the drip, drip, drip of the Chinese torture method? Perhaps it's because our parents were wise and knew something all along, that we could not possibly grasp; times were changing, we weren't as innocent as we perceived ourselves to be in our own minds, and one day they would receive the ultimate gift from us: payback.
I hate the people who founded this country, and all of her special 'family oriented attractions': from the national parks, to theme parks, to the beach communities, and so on. Have you bothered to look at a map lately, other than in your latest bug infested iPhone app? You can still buy them, you know. And, if you are as forward thinking, or paranoid, as I am, you can get them for free with your AAA Plus Platinum Special Rewards membership. Take a map, lay it out and study it. Give it a good, long look. There is not one of these worthwhile "attractions" within a reasonable driving distance from anywhere you may choose to live in this great country. It's a scam, and we are the naive victims of the game. Grr...
It all starts out innocently enough. You pile into the family truckster, or "man van", as some in my inner circle happily refer to it, children clicking their little seat belts over booster seats (mandatory until approximately 15 years of age, or 200 lbs., whichever comes first), or being restrained in the latest 16 point safety harness, everyone gleefully singing songs, or mapping out their evil strategy and then it happens: 5 minutes into your 16 hour pleasure ride into the 7th circle of hell, a teeny, tiny voice, thought initially to be springing forth from your subconscious, calls out, "Daddy...are we there yet?"
This one, seemingly innocent question, meant with the most honest sincerity (allegedly), has now set off an avalanche of follow-up questions, and statements, aimed squarely at the synapses in the brain which manipulate self control, irritability and sanity: "Daddy, I have to go potty." "Can we eat? I'm hungry. I need Donald's", and my favorite, "Mom! Sonny Poo Poo is touching me!" All, before leaving the cozy confines of your subdivision. The fact that this is an element of the American Dream, in any form, is as disturbing as waking up on the basement couch with Uncle John's arm draped over your side, drooling into your inner ear canal; or so I would imagine.
We do the best we can to disarm the verbal arsenal, or distract the attentively deficient, by singing antiquated songs, or playing ABC sight games our great grandparents used to play in their '42 coupes, but to no avail. This is the 21st century and they have far surpassed, by the age of 4, our capacity for what is real, tolerable and acceptable, and they make us pay. They make us pay for every meal we mandated a 'green' be flushed down into their little digestive tracts; for every time we refused to let them go play at little Susie Perfect's house because their attitude was a little off, or homework wasn't quite finished to the satisfaction of our illiterate neighbors with the hay field growing in their front yard. It's a brilliant plan, one that is clear in its intent and perfect in its execution: total destruction of the parental psyche, resulting in great rewards and feasts for little people everywhere.
We sit, argue with them and each other, teetering on the verge of complete dissolution of the family unit, until we look up in the rear view mirror and catch a glimpse of our little angels sleeping peacefully, some 30 minutes outside our planned destination and realize, 'This is what it's all about'. Then, in that sweet, sleepy voice, with just a hint of yawn, "Daddy...are we there yet?"
"Yes, buddy. Yes we are."
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Monday, August 12, 2013
I Want My Grandma's Fried Chicken
There are certain experiences in life which leave indelible imprints on our memory: our favorite sports team winning it all, the birth of a child, and Grandma's fried chicken. What is it about this phenomenon that makes our mouths water, taste it in our dreams and yearn for one more meal? Is it those memories of standing in her kitchen as a little boy, while the aroma of your favorite meal swallowed up that cozy ranch you used to beg your parents to visit, almost daily? Or watching the love and effort she put into every phase of the ordeal; from the homemade breading to the hand mashing of the potatoes? Whatever the case, a visit to Grandma's was always a magical experience.
Growing up, I had the very good fortune of living a very short drive from my grandmother. My father might tell you, too short. At any rate, I would harass my parents constantly, to go hang out at her house; not like my dad had spent the first eighteen years of his life living there, or anything. My friends were fun enough, but there was just something about spending a day, or couple of days, inside that home. There was always plenty to do, whether it be endless hours of Rummy and Yahtzee, building Lincoln Logs, or simply curling up on the couch watching our favorite soap, Guiding Light. The best part for me was, she always wanted me around.
I loved my family life and my mother was a wonderful cook, but I found the story of my grandmother's generation to be fascinating. I used to lie awake and wonder what their lives must have been like, living through the Great Depression and the Second World War. I would observe my grandfather, sitting quietly in his easy chair watching the news, or glancing at the Readers Digest, occasionally slipping outside the front door to pull on a Camel filter less smoke and was completely captivated with how this strong, silent man could make me feel so safe. I just l-o-v-e-d that place and the history wrapped up inside.
There were benefits to being one of Grandma's favorites (it would make mom uncomfortable, because she felt my siblings were slighted from time to time), like going to the mall, or Woolworth's, going to a movie together, or running meaningless errands, just to have the company, especially after Grandpa died. We would go everywhere, just to go. And she would let me do things, like pound on her piano until her ears would bleed, dig through the bottomless candy dish, or play and play and play, until we both collapsed in a heap and slept long hours through the night. Being one of her favorites also meant she asked for me before she passed, one of the most difficult times of my life, only days after rushing home from college to be by her bedside.
All of that has changed now and she has been gone nearly thirty years. Not a week goes by that I don't think about those times, sitting in her tiny dining room gazing in wonder, as she put the finishing touches on another masterpiece. I long to have her offer up the first piece of chicken, the leg, my favorite, and ask me to be polite and pass the gravy, just one more time. I often times smell those smells, see her smile and hug her in my dreams. And I miss her...every day.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Growing up, I had the very good fortune of living a very short drive from my grandmother. My father might tell you, too short. At any rate, I would harass my parents constantly, to go hang out at her house; not like my dad had spent the first eighteen years of his life living there, or anything. My friends were fun enough, but there was just something about spending a day, or couple of days, inside that home. There was always plenty to do, whether it be endless hours of Rummy and Yahtzee, building Lincoln Logs, or simply curling up on the couch watching our favorite soap, Guiding Light. The best part for me was, she always wanted me around.
I loved my family life and my mother was a wonderful cook, but I found the story of my grandmother's generation to be fascinating. I used to lie awake and wonder what their lives must have been like, living through the Great Depression and the Second World War. I would observe my grandfather, sitting quietly in his easy chair watching the news, or glancing at the Readers Digest, occasionally slipping outside the front door to pull on a Camel filter less smoke and was completely captivated with how this strong, silent man could make me feel so safe. I just l-o-v-e-d that place and the history wrapped up inside.
There were benefits to being one of Grandma's favorites (it would make mom uncomfortable, because she felt my siblings were slighted from time to time), like going to the mall, or Woolworth's, going to a movie together, or running meaningless errands, just to have the company, especially after Grandpa died. We would go everywhere, just to go. And she would let me do things, like pound on her piano until her ears would bleed, dig through the bottomless candy dish, or play and play and play, until we both collapsed in a heap and slept long hours through the night. Being one of her favorites also meant she asked for me before she passed, one of the most difficult times of my life, only days after rushing home from college to be by her bedside.
All of that has changed now and she has been gone nearly thirty years. Not a week goes by that I don't think about those times, sitting in her tiny dining room gazing in wonder, as she put the finishing touches on another masterpiece. I long to have her offer up the first piece of chicken, the leg, my favorite, and ask me to be polite and pass the gravy, just one more time. I often times smell those smells, see her smile and hug her in my dreams. And I miss her...every day.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Eye Don' Knead Know Speling Oar Grammer...
My name is Boo K. Riter and this won thyme inn school, eye remember my teacher says "ewe better listen too me cuz your goin two knead this some day. I was like, man your knot even going too bee their sew why our u hastlin me. " I use two h8 dat place be cuz it was like a prism sentence and they're was no per roll. I coldnt even bear too Sho up have the time, butt eye did any whey an it were a pane inn the but. Sum times I wood sit inn the back of the class and make fun of all the smart kids they wasn't to fun too bee around at all ever? Some how my teechers had me go all the way to twelveth grade and it was off full. This was da longist year of my live. Butt they let me graju eight anyways and eye laffed at them all on the stage in the Jim when they gave me a duhploma!
That some er wuz the bestest ever when I flu on a plain four the first time and went to Disney whirled. My buddy's dident go becoz they was to Bize getting reddy fore collige its col tho be cause it was awe sum without them awl bye my self. I road all the rides and saw the cassel. Then eye flu back an every won was gone. All off my frends that I use two chill with moved away so I just layed inn my room and did knot care when they all left me. It was pritty sad and I was board that I didn't half any bruthers oar sisters.
Won day I woke up an de sided I shooed git a job and make knew frends, oar go try too go two collige my self. And ewe no what, I started two feel better about my self. I was ix sited too feel good agin. I werked hard an studied perty hard to, and inn the middle of skool I de sided to get Sirius two become a righter. Eye practised and I practiced, and over time I began to understand things more clearly. I enjoyed learning and helping other people who asked, or needed my help, and my life began to take shape and have value.
I received my degree English literature, with a minor in Journalism and have decided to spend a year abroad, learning about different cultures and gathering even more knowledge, so I can come back and share those experiences with others. I am so glad I woke up and took the advice of that teacher. My only regret is that I don't remember her name because, frankly, I just didn't care at the time. So, if you're out there and you remember that 10-year-old boy who used to give you grief each day, and acted as if he didn't listen and didn't care; he did listen, he does care and he thanks you.
Thank you to all of the teachers who give so much of themselves each day, and always do the very best they can, for their students. You never know the life you are impacting at any given time; it may just be that boy, or girl, that's a little bit different than the others and seems to care a whole lot less. You have the 'gift'; the gift of sacrifice, and caring for the welfare of these children. That includes the student that doesn't dress quite as nice, or exhibit exactly the proper habits regarding hygiene and may not be fully engaged at all times. It isn't always their fault, and many times you are the one person who can impact them in a positive manner; be their refuge. Educating isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. If it were, everyone would do it. I encourage you to keep up the fight and never give up, especially when it seems hopeless, like they don't care. They do, it just may take some a little longer to appreciate the lessens you instilled in them, fulfilling their promise and moving forward, sharing their gift with someone else. Remember, those who can...teach.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
That some er wuz the bestest ever when I flu on a plain four the first time and went to Disney whirled. My buddy's dident go becoz they was to Bize getting reddy fore collige its col tho be cause it was awe sum without them awl bye my self. I road all the rides and saw the cassel. Then eye flu back an every won was gone. All off my frends that I use two chill with moved away so I just layed inn my room and did knot care when they all left me. It was pritty sad and I was board that I didn't half any bruthers oar sisters.
Won day I woke up an de sided I shooed git a job and make knew frends, oar go try too go two collige my self. And ewe no what, I started two feel better about my self. I was ix sited too feel good agin. I werked hard an studied perty hard to, and inn the middle of skool I de sided to get Sirius two become a righter. Eye practised and I practiced, and over time I began to understand things more clearly. I enjoyed learning and helping other people who asked, or needed my help, and my life began to take shape and have value.
I received my degree English literature, with a minor in Journalism and have decided to spend a year abroad, learning about different cultures and gathering even more knowledge, so I can come back and share those experiences with others. I am so glad I woke up and took the advice of that teacher. My only regret is that I don't remember her name because, frankly, I just didn't care at the time. So, if you're out there and you remember that 10-year-old boy who used to give you grief each day, and acted as if he didn't listen and didn't care; he did listen, he does care and he thanks you.
Thank you to all of the teachers who give so much of themselves each day, and always do the very best they can, for their students. You never know the life you are impacting at any given time; it may just be that boy, or girl, that's a little bit different than the others and seems to care a whole lot less. You have the 'gift'; the gift of sacrifice, and caring for the welfare of these children. That includes the student that doesn't dress quite as nice, or exhibit exactly the proper habits regarding hygiene and may not be fully engaged at all times. It isn't always their fault, and many times you are the one person who can impact them in a positive manner; be their refuge. Educating isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. If it were, everyone would do it. I encourage you to keep up the fight and never give up, especially when it seems hopeless, like they don't care. They do, it just may take some a little longer to appreciate the lessens you instilled in them, fulfilling their promise and moving forward, sharing their gift with someone else. Remember, those who can...teach.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Friday, August 9, 2013
Kids, And The 'Rule Of Three'...
For as long as one can remember, the laws of nature have mandated that every major life, or catastrophic, event has taken place with a 'Rule of Three'. There's no rhyme or reason. It's merely a greater force letting us know we've already had two chances, then asking how many more we need. The game of baseball and child rearing are no different. Today we'll focus on the kids.
I have categorized the rules as they apply to our family. Yours may differ but, in the end, I think you'll find we're all paddling up the same proverbial stream. The list, in no particular order of importance, is as follows:
The Three Ring Circus: This is simply the rule that states that if you have more than one child living under your roof at any given time, your life will be constant chaos and turmoil, and nothing will be anything less than a life altering, traumatic, or dramatic event.
Practical example-"MOOO-ooom!" "Sam took the last fig newton out of the jaaa-aaar!" A fig newton. I know, right? Or, "DAA-aaad!" "Billy stole the rubber band that I took off of the paper that was in our drive way six months ago, that I completely forgot about until this very moment, and will keep me in therapy for the next 20 years if I don't get it baa-aaack!" Come on, tell me I'm lying. I dare you.
The Three Round Fight: This rule varies only slightly in appearance from the first example, in that many times there will be a physical confrontation which may, or may not, involve bruising, blood, and most likely, tears. This rule has a short term effect on the parent involved and most often results in a 'closed door' policy enforcement.
The Three Second Count: This rule is a typically the 'action' taken as the result of behaviors exhibited in the first two examples. This is a relatively new, 21st century version of discipline which has replaced the open hand, the belt, the switch, the paddle, the hanger, and every other effective method of corporal punishment, successful generations of parents employed raising their children. How this whole fad was initiated I'm not quite sure, but one thing is for certain: It's far more humiliating and embarrassing for the parent than it is the child. Kids know, as soon as we raise the finger, we are full of it, have lost all control, and they have won. You tell me; how effective is this (and this is reality)? "Boo Boo? If I get to three I'm going to take away everything good and meaningful about your life. Are you ready?" "O-N-E. I mean it. T-WWW-OOO! I'm not fooling around. TWO-AND-A-HALF!! I'll really do it this time! I'm not afraid of you." Oh R-E-A-L-L-Y? Every time I witness this rule in action, it makes my skin crawl, because I know the parent doing the finger pointing got their feelings hurt one too many times as a child and refuses to subject their children to the same abuses. Instead, they subject the rest if us to their new and improved version, and the monsters they have 'raised' as a result. Oh, and in our house, we never use the 'half', but always go straight to three.
The Three Minute Time Out: When the progressive, forward thinking individuals fail miserably enforcing the most recent rule, this is the result; because nothing spells control, like taking a disrespectful, unresponsive child and placing them in 'freeze mode' for an extended period of time. Child rearing "experts" (I always wondered how you become an expert beyond feeding, clothing and changing the crappy diapers of my kid, but I digress) recommend using a minute of quiet, reflective time for each year of their life. I.e.-The 3-year-old gets three minutes and the 9-year-old gets nine minutes. Now, I have one of these; a 9-year-old, and I'm nominated annually for 'Father of the Year' if I can get her to sit still for nine seconds. And more often than not, this rule is accompanied by the, "Sit still or we're starting over", by-law, which is entirely inefficient by its sheer definition. If you start over, who is benefiting from the 'punishment'? It's time to recognize; they're smarter than we are, and are proven professionals when it comes to exposing our weaknesses.
The Three Stop 'Roadie': We've all taken that short, two or three hour jaunt to grandma's, and subjected ourselves to our own famous last words: "Everyone go potty now, because we are not stopping, this time!" Then, as predictable as the sunrise, 'Birdie', named for the size of her bladder, screams incessantly that she will leave a little yellow pool on your fine Italian leather third row bench seat if you fail to pull the car over...now. Are we really stupid enough to say no? Be careful how you answer, because some of you in our midst help write the yearly budgets for every car detailing company in the country. Nine out of ten experts say that we will stop, on multiple occasions, because the psychological effects, and damage to our olfactory receptors, will be too great to overcome otherwise.
The Three Aisle Meltdown: This rule, probably he most fun and rewarding for the parent (at least us), deals with the phenomenon of the grocery store meltdown. We've all been there; you're wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles, talking or texting to your 'bestie', because you can't not hear from them for longer than five minute intervals, look down and notice your angel has been raking the shelves for the past 10 minutes and is now buried in a mountain of Oreo's and Cheesy Poofs. Now is the profound moment that men and women alike choose to 'grow a pair' and utter that one simple, negative, word that is non existent in the vernacular of today's youth: "No". The chain reaction that results from this fool-hardy attempt at parenting is both hilarious, and epic in its rate of failure. We, in our wisdom, have chosen to berate our shorty, pull them out of the cart, double stuffed lard flying into neatly fronted shelves, and leave them in a heap, screaming and sobbing as if they had just severed a limb sticking their arm in the live lobster tank. Proving a point, we unaffectedly keep 'shopping', one, two, three aisles over, until they are either out of earshot, or we are confronted by an angry mob, accompanied by security, threatening us with a visit from CPS. We love this rule in our household and have yet to get that knock on our door.
Three Hugs, Three Kisses, Three Times A Day: This is by far the most rewarding rule of them all; proof that no matter what dirty little, rotten scoundrels they may be some of the time, we love them all of the time. This is the rule that makes all of the laughable, inexcusable, ineffective methods we enact on a daily basis, worth the effort, or lack thereof. This rule is the realization that no matter what 'event' may transpire throughout the course of the day, nothing supersedes our love for our kids. This affection for our children is perhaps the greatest parenting lesson they can receive. That, regardless of how you choose to raise, or discipline your children, if you love unconditionally, they might just turn out alright in the end.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
I have categorized the rules as they apply to our family. Yours may differ but, in the end, I think you'll find we're all paddling up the same proverbial stream. The list, in no particular order of importance, is as follows:
The Three Ring Circus: This is simply the rule that states that if you have more than one child living under your roof at any given time, your life will be constant chaos and turmoil, and nothing will be anything less than a life altering, traumatic, or dramatic event.
Practical example-"MOOO-ooom!" "Sam took the last fig newton out of the jaaa-aaar!" A fig newton. I know, right? Or, "DAA-aaad!" "Billy stole the rubber band that I took off of the paper that was in our drive way six months ago, that I completely forgot about until this very moment, and will keep me in therapy for the next 20 years if I don't get it baa-aaack!" Come on, tell me I'm lying. I dare you.
The Three Round Fight: This rule varies only slightly in appearance from the first example, in that many times there will be a physical confrontation which may, or may not, involve bruising, blood, and most likely, tears. This rule has a short term effect on the parent involved and most often results in a 'closed door' policy enforcement.
The Three Second Count: This rule is a typically the 'action' taken as the result of behaviors exhibited in the first two examples. This is a relatively new, 21st century version of discipline which has replaced the open hand, the belt, the switch, the paddle, the hanger, and every other effective method of corporal punishment, successful generations of parents employed raising their children. How this whole fad was initiated I'm not quite sure, but one thing is for certain: It's far more humiliating and embarrassing for the parent than it is the child. Kids know, as soon as we raise the finger, we are full of it, have lost all control, and they have won. You tell me; how effective is this (and this is reality)? "Boo Boo? If I get to three I'm going to take away everything good and meaningful about your life. Are you ready?" "O-N-E. I mean it. T-WWW-OOO! I'm not fooling around. TWO-AND-A-HALF!! I'll really do it this time! I'm not afraid of you." Oh R-E-A-L-L-Y? Every time I witness this rule in action, it makes my skin crawl, because I know the parent doing the finger pointing got their feelings hurt one too many times as a child and refuses to subject their children to the same abuses. Instead, they subject the rest if us to their new and improved version, and the monsters they have 'raised' as a result. Oh, and in our house, we never use the 'half', but always go straight to three.
The Three Minute Time Out: When the progressive, forward thinking individuals fail miserably enforcing the most recent rule, this is the result; because nothing spells control, like taking a disrespectful, unresponsive child and placing them in 'freeze mode' for an extended period of time. Child rearing "experts" (I always wondered how you become an expert beyond feeding, clothing and changing the crappy diapers of my kid, but I digress) recommend using a minute of quiet, reflective time for each year of their life. I.e.-The 3-year-old gets three minutes and the 9-year-old gets nine minutes. Now, I have one of these; a 9-year-old, and I'm nominated annually for 'Father of the Year' if I can get her to sit still for nine seconds. And more often than not, this rule is accompanied by the, "Sit still or we're starting over", by-law, which is entirely inefficient by its sheer definition. If you start over, who is benefiting from the 'punishment'? It's time to recognize; they're smarter than we are, and are proven professionals when it comes to exposing our weaknesses.
The Three Stop 'Roadie': We've all taken that short, two or three hour jaunt to grandma's, and subjected ourselves to our own famous last words: "Everyone go potty now, because we are not stopping, this time!" Then, as predictable as the sunrise, 'Birdie', named for the size of her bladder, screams incessantly that she will leave a little yellow pool on your fine Italian leather third row bench seat if you fail to pull the car over...now. Are we really stupid enough to say no? Be careful how you answer, because some of you in our midst help write the yearly budgets for every car detailing company in the country. Nine out of ten experts say that we will stop, on multiple occasions, because the psychological effects, and damage to our olfactory receptors, will be too great to overcome otherwise.
The Three Aisle Meltdown: This rule, probably he most fun and rewarding for the parent (at least us), deals with the phenomenon of the grocery store meltdown. We've all been there; you're wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles, talking or texting to your 'bestie', because you can't not hear from them for longer than five minute intervals, look down and notice your angel has been raking the shelves for the past 10 minutes and is now buried in a mountain of Oreo's and Cheesy Poofs. Now is the profound moment that men and women alike choose to 'grow a pair' and utter that one simple, negative, word that is non existent in the vernacular of today's youth: "No". The chain reaction that results from this fool-hardy attempt at parenting is both hilarious, and epic in its rate of failure. We, in our wisdom, have chosen to berate our shorty, pull them out of the cart, double stuffed lard flying into neatly fronted shelves, and leave them in a heap, screaming and sobbing as if they had just severed a limb sticking their arm in the live lobster tank. Proving a point, we unaffectedly keep 'shopping', one, two, three aisles over, until they are either out of earshot, or we are confronted by an angry mob, accompanied by security, threatening us with a visit from CPS. We love this rule in our household and have yet to get that knock on our door.
Three Hugs, Three Kisses, Three Times A Day: This is by far the most rewarding rule of them all; proof that no matter what dirty little, rotten scoundrels they may be some of the time, we love them all of the time. This is the rule that makes all of the laughable, inexcusable, ineffective methods we enact on a daily basis, worth the effort, or lack thereof. This rule is the realization that no matter what 'event' may transpire throughout the course of the day, nothing supersedes our love for our kids. This affection for our children is perhaps the greatest parenting lesson they can receive. That, regardless of how you choose to raise, or discipline your children, if you love unconditionally, they might just turn out alright in the end.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Sunday, August 4, 2013
It's Opposite Day-This Is Going To Be Terrible!
My kids have this habit of walking to the cliff's edge of discipline and then turning their nasty little attitudes into a game-Opposite Day. Over time, they've developed this keen sense for when it's just about time to commence play, before hell's fury rains down on their little heads. Here's a typical exchange: "Hey Evan, it's Opposite Day. You're not stupid." "Hey Ella, it's Opposite Day. You're skinny and beautiful.", and so on, and so forth, until they either run out of gas, or we begin to interject our version of the game, and it immediately becomes uninteresting and lame. So today, in celebration of their mischievous minds, I've decided to write my entry in this fashion. Of course there's always an outside chance this could be awful. See? This is going to be easy. Oops, I did it again...
Our two older kids started back to school last Friday and I was so sad to see them go. The summers go way too fast and we had so much more we wanted to do. At least we were able to take a relaxing vacation with the entire family. It was sheer joy riding in the "man van" for 10 1/2 hours with four kids, ten years old or younger. They were so incredibly well behaved, you could not possibly imagine. They sat quietly for the entire trip, watching their movies, never once complaining of boredom, or wanting to decapitate a sibling. They refused to stop every two hours for bathroom breaks, and never once uttered the words hunger, or McDonald's. Upon arriving at our destination, they co-existed seamlessly, and without incident, for the duration of our stay and not once were they disruptive in public. All-in-all I would have to say this was one of our more proud experiences as parents. And camps? Our eldest son and daughter were both of the opinion that they were the worst..weeks..e-v-e-r.
On several occasions, to break up the sheer monotony of the days, we decided to venture out into the casual dining arena. We typically operated under the guise of some reward for previous displays of awesome social awareness and functionality, or merely to show the general public the fun, drama-free nature of our daily lives. Much to our delight, no drinks were ever spilled in the first five minutes of our visit, no one had to be called over to 'Bissell' up the remnants of a broken plate, our 18-month-old angel never chucked a peanut at the head of another patron in a "high-class" steakhouse and never, at any time, did a waiter at this same fine establishment, scare the life out of this aforementioned child, screaming, and clapping, and banging out his version of 'Happy Birthday', to some poor 82-years-young gentleman, who quite possibly wished he would be around for countless more years, to experience such joyful noises emanating from future gaggles of apron clad, independently wealthy, entrepreneurs. Now THAT'S a run-on sentence.
Today? Today's not much better. It's cloudy, cold and downright miserable outside. The kids are so subdued and needy, and the baby is sitting alone, quietly and calm, moving every once again, I can only assume, to assure me he's still breathing. There's absolutely no life in this house. If only they could venture outside to play for the day. In fact, glancing around, the atmosphere is a bit unsettling. The dogs aren't barking every two seconds when the door slams, from some young individual running in and out, repeatedly, to get water, or a snack, or use the restroom, or change their clothes from using the restroom; and the house, it's so...clean. Yes, it's days like this that make me wonder why I ever decided to do this; why we ever thought we could handle being parents and subjecting our lives to decades of torture and madness. I can only assume we had some momentary lapse of reason, on some day we called Opposite Day. If there is any certainty in all of this, it's that if we were to do it all again, we would change everything. We would erase all of the memories, experiences, triumphs and heartaches, and trade it all for a world of nothing...in a heartbeat.
Now, wouldn't that be 'stupid'? Oh, did i mention it's not Opposite Day anymore?
Until tomorrow,
Scott
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