Welcome back, kids
My two youngest children were gone this past week, visiting relatives in Killeen . The house felt way too quiet. It’s funny, I fuss about how much noise they make when they are here (especially when I’m working nights and trying to sleep during the day), but the truth is I slept better once they got back home.
Now, I missed both of them the same, and neither one more than the other. However, it never occurred to me how much my son helped out around the house until he was on “relative leave”.
He usually takes out the trash in the evenings. In fact, it turns out that he must take the trash out a couple of times a day. When he was gone I couldn’t believe how much trash we go through as a family- and that was with two of us gone. The average American creates 1600 pounds of garbage per year. I think we had half of our numbers in one week.
He usually cleans the pool, too. I mean, all three have “clean the pool” on their list of chores once a week, but he by far does it the most and the best. Two days without him being there, the pool was like swimming in a pasture tank. I swear I felt a catfish nibbling on my toes at one point.
My son is in charge of feeding the dog every morning also. And I think somewhere around Wednesday I caught my dog on the corner up the street holding a “will bark for food” sign.
Speaking of the dog, he looked lost the whole week as much as I did. He’s used to playing and running around the house with the kids for a little while every day. That is, until he’s had enough and starts growling and snapping at them to leave him alone.
Of course, I had to mow the lawn by myself this week, too. It turns out that the push mower is a little heavier than I remember it being. I’m so used to riding on my mower and watching him push his. I started off speed walking behind that thing, and by the time I made it to the front yard I was using it more for a walker than a lawn mower.
The morning papers? It’s my son’s job to grab those every morning, too. Do you understand the effort I had to put out, walking all the way outside every morning just to grab a couple of newspapers? I should’ve had people lined up along the sidewalk there and back holding out water cups, like they do in the marathons.
And as I said before, it wasn’t just my son that I missed. Jenna, my youngest daughter, also gives a great shoulder massage while we’re watching t.v. in the evenings. I had to pay some lady in the mall $20 to do what Jenna does a couple of times a week for a simple trip to the piggy bank.
And most of all, I depend on those kids to provide their mom with plenty of hugs and kisses every day. She has to reach a certain quota every day, or the next day she’s going to need even more. Without them here, guess who had to feel in all week?
Hey, now that I think about it… Anybody out there need a couple of kids for a week or so?
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Our night out
I’ve had better parenting moments.
My wife and I made plans to go out this past Friday night. My two daughters wanted to go with us, and started pouting when I told them no. You would have thought that we told them they were never leaving the house again.
Now, every kid pouts every now and then so that isn’t what made me mad. What set me off was the “we never get to do anything” comments. Oh, please.
“Let me tell you something,” I told my oldest daughter, who was pouting the most. “You’ve gotten to do more in your twelve years than I got to do in my first twenty-five. You’ve got friends coming over all the time, you have your own cell phone, you can go swimming anytime you want to, day or night. We are a month away from taking you to the beach- for the sixth straight year. Hell, I was almost thirty before I ever even saw the beach. So little girl, don’t whine to me about you never get to do anything.”
Then I really lost it, and couldn’t stop myself.
“For the past eight months, it’s been all about you kids. Kids this, kids that. Kids, kids, kids. Every single night, one of you little parasites has had baseball practice or softball practice or volleyball practice. If you didn’t have practice, then you had a game. If you didn’t have practice or a game, you had five hours of homework that we had to help you with.
“So no, you can’t go tonight. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take your mother- who by the way is still my wife- out on a nice, romantic date.”
Evidently, the word “romantic” is the magic word that makes little girls say “eeww!” like I just swallowed a bug in front of them.
“We’d like to go eat at a nice restaurant for once. One that doesn’t have a drive-thru window, styrofoam cups, or crayons with their menus. I want to pay the check at the table with one of those fancy black notebooks instead of standing at the register. And speaking of menus, there won’t be any chicken strips, chicken wheels or chicken sandwiches at the restaurant where we are going. Nothing chicken.
“There will be a candle on the table, a couple of glasses of wine or other adult beverages, and we’ll be playing footsies the whole time. I might even kiss your mother square on the mouth at some point.”
Again there was a loud “eeww!” Sadly, this time it was from my wife.
Because this is a family newspaper, I left a couple of choice words that I said to them out of this column. As we left, I wasn’t sure who was more upset- the girls because they couldn’t go or my wife because she thought I might try to kiss her.
So I guess I lost the Father of the Year Award again this year. Due to the new chore lists, I’m not sure I was in the running for the award anyway.
Well I guess there is always next year…
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
I’ve had better parenting moments.
My wife and I made plans to go out this past Friday night. My two daughters wanted to go with us, and started pouting when I told them no. You would have thought that we told them they were never leaving the house again.
Now, every kid pouts every now and then so that isn’t what made me mad. What set me off was the “we never get to do anything” comments. Oh, please.
“Let me tell you something,” I told my oldest daughter, who was pouting the most. “You’ve gotten to do more in your twelve years than I got to do in my first twenty-five. You’ve got friends coming over all the time, you have your own cell phone, you can go swimming anytime you want to, day or night. We are a month away from taking you to the beach- for the sixth straight year. Hell, I was almost thirty before I ever even saw the beach. So little girl, don’t whine to me about you never get to do anything.”
Then I really lost it, and couldn’t stop myself.
“For the past eight months, it’s been all about you kids. Kids this, kids that. Kids, kids, kids. Every single night, one of you little parasites has had baseball practice or softball practice or volleyball practice. If you didn’t have practice, then you had a game. If you didn’t have practice or a game, you had five hours of homework that we had to help you with.
“So no, you can’t go tonight. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take your mother- who by the way is still my wife- out on a nice, romantic date.”
Evidently, the word “romantic” is the magic word that makes little girls say “eeww!” like I just swallowed a bug in front of them.
“We’d like to go eat at a nice restaurant for once. One that doesn’t have a drive-thru window, styrofoam cups, or crayons with their menus. I want to pay the check at the table with one of those fancy black notebooks instead of standing at the register. And speaking of menus, there won’t be any chicken strips, chicken wheels or chicken sandwiches at the restaurant where we are going. Nothing chicken.
“There will be a candle on the table, a couple of glasses of wine or other adult beverages, and we’ll be playing footsies the whole time. I might even kiss your mother square on the mouth at some point.”
Again there was a loud “eeww!” Sadly, this time it was from my wife.
Because this is a family newspaper, I left a couple of choice words that I said to them out of this column. As we left, I wasn’t sure who was more upset- the girls because they couldn’t go or my wife because she thought I might try to kiss her.
So I guess I lost the Father of the Year Award again this year. Due to the new chore lists, I’m not sure I was in the running for the award anyway.
Well I guess there is always next year…
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
Can’t go wrong with tiger print
Well we made it back from the lake, with everyone and everything still intact. Actually, it turned out to be a little easier to drive, maneuver, and set up the travel trailer than I thought. In fact, I’d have to say it was quicker and easier than putting up a tent. Of course, it’d be great if I didn’t have to drop light-bill-type money on gas whenever we took it out.
The only problem I had with taking the travel trailer out was this- I’ve now moved into the age bracket that enjoys RVing. I paid attention all weekend long, and everyone I saw was either under the age of 16 or over the age of 45. There were no cool twenty-somethings there. The sting of that realization was up there with the pain of a pretty girl calling you “sir” and your son blowing by you on the basketball court.
The funniest part of the weekend came when an old man two campsights down came outside in a Speedo. A very, very small Speedo. And he felt very comfortable wearing it all weekend long, much to my kids’ horror. They shrieked and ewwed every time he came outside. And that was just the green one. You should have heard them scream when he broke out the tiger-print Speedo on Sunday.
Anyway, I’ve decided to embrace my aging process. Instead of eating fast food Monday, I stopped and had lunch at Luby’s with all the other old people. I love the food there, and there are so many options to choose from. My only problem is I feel like I’m holding up the line while I’m deciding.
In fact, one old lady let me know I was waisting her time. She kept elbowing me and hitting my tray with her tray, like I was keeping her from watching an episode of “Murder, She Wrote” or something. I wanted to point out to her that nobody nudged her while she drove the last 17 miles with her dang blinker on at 40 mph. But instead I just let it slide. Call it part of getting older and more mellow.
Back to the RVing. We really enjoyed it and plan to take it out more, when we can. We’ve decided to keep to the state parks as much as possible, because they are a little more strict on the drinking and things like that. Folks will always drink, of course, but it seems a little more subdued at the state parks. And a little more quieter.
We’ve revamped our list of things we need to take with us, also. For instance, this last time we forgot to take bicycles for the kids. They were bored a good bit of the time. We need to put a fan or two in there, some books or something, and for God’s sake, a coffee pot. If I’m going to wake up with three kids and a wife bouncing around all happy and chirpy like, then I’m going to need a pretty big cup of strong coffee. Or three.
And finally, we can’t forget to pack the jewel of every fun-filled RVing weekend from here on out… my own tiger-print Speedo.
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
Well we made it back from the lake, with everyone and everything still intact. Actually, it turned out to be a little easier to drive, maneuver, and set up the travel trailer than I thought. In fact, I’d have to say it was quicker and easier than putting up a tent. Of course, it’d be great if I didn’t have to drop light-bill-type money on gas whenever we took it out.
The only problem I had with taking the travel trailer out was this- I’ve now moved into the age bracket that enjoys RVing. I paid attention all weekend long, and everyone I saw was either under the age of 16 or over the age of 45. There were no cool twenty-somethings there. The sting of that realization was up there with the pain of a pretty girl calling you “sir” and your son blowing by you on the basketball court.
The funniest part of the weekend came when an old man two campsights down came outside in a Speedo. A very, very small Speedo. And he felt very comfortable wearing it all weekend long, much to my kids’ horror. They shrieked and ewwed every time he came outside. And that was just the green one. You should have heard them scream when he broke out the tiger-print Speedo on Sunday.
Anyway, I’ve decided to embrace my aging process. Instead of eating fast food Monday, I stopped and had lunch at Luby’s with all the other old people. I love the food there, and there are so many options to choose from. My only problem is I feel like I’m holding up the line while I’m deciding.
In fact, one old lady let me know I was waisting her time. She kept elbowing me and hitting my tray with her tray, like I was keeping her from watching an episode of “Murder, She Wrote” or something. I wanted to point out to her that nobody nudged her while she drove the last 17 miles with her dang blinker on at 40 mph. But instead I just let it slide. Call it part of getting older and more mellow.
Back to the RVing. We really enjoyed it and plan to take it out more, when we can. We’ve decided to keep to the state parks as much as possible, because they are a little more strict on the drinking and things like that. Folks will always drink, of course, but it seems a little more subdued at the state parks. And a little more quieter.
We’ve revamped our list of things we need to take with us, also. For instance, this last time we forgot to take bicycles for the kids. They were bored a good bit of the time. We need to put a fan or two in there, some books or something, and for God’s sake, a coffee pot. If I’m going to wake up with three kids and a wife bouncing around all happy and chirpy like, then I’m going to need a pretty big cup of strong coffee. Or three.
And finally, we can’t forget to pack the jewel of every fun-filled RVing weekend from here on out… my own tiger-print Speedo.
Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Go to http://robconews.com/ or http://shannonscasta.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment or suggestion.
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