Well it’s been another rough night of driving around town with your manfriends, pretending you’re a college kid, I’m sure. Eating sushi, checking out cool hotel lounges designed by even cooler people, and whatnot.
We’re pretty cool here in Calgary, too. We like to leave slimy green beans lying on the floor for people to step on. Because it feels pretty cool on your feet. We like to take dishes out of the dishwasher and throw them down on the floor to see what happens. (They break). We like to cook dinner with one hand, holding a baby with the other. We’re definitely living on the edge.
Though we have to make our own entertainment, since you really can’t drag two small children to cool hotel lounges. Especially not ours. So today we had fun-with-kids which is much the same as fun-with-archinerds, except there’s no pretentious conversation, no beer or fancy cocktails, and only 50% of the attendees wear black.
We kicked off the day at the Farmer’s Market where we ended up buying a pumpkin. It is to be turned into a bat, so you know. I hope you bring your bat-making skills back with you because you’ve got some carving to do.
In the afternoon we moved the party over to the library where the Hen and I went to a baby music class. I could say he did well, because really he did. He didn’t run screaming from the room, or pitch a fit at the librarian’s selection of (dorky) music and chants. But of course he also spent a lot of time at the dry-erase board, which wasn’t part of the class, pushing the bottom part of the board in, and out. In, and out. Walking around with the dry erase markers. Pilfering the CD’s on display. He also spent a good portion of time writhing around on the floor. When we left the ‘classroom’ he immediately ran to the shelves of books and started pulling some down. Upon being told ‘no’ he ran away to another shelf.
We encouraged the boys to get in touch with their feminine sides, and played with hair curlers for a long time. The littlest one had a blast, putting curlers in other people’s hair and taking them out. And trying to hide them under the bed. And generally looking adorable with a curler or two in his hair.
The oldest one played along happily but drew the line when I asked if I could take a picture of him with a bobby pin in his hair. You’ll be pleased to know he spent a good portion of the time trying to construct a car….out of hair curlers. A manly man, who nevertheless stashed a bunch of green curlers in his locker ‘so [he] can do his hair tomorrow.’
The good thing about being a single parent is that other people feel sorry for you, and bring you presents. By other people, I mainly mean my mother. But I suspect you, being the reasonable and intelligent person that you are who enjoys sleeping on a bed instead of a floor will not come home empty-handed.
I imagine you’ll come home, present me with a gift and say ‘I don’t know how you did it. These kids are crazy! How can I make this up to you? I don’t think Mother Theresa could have kept it together as well as you did. How about I watch the kids every morning next week and you just do whatever you want. And I’ll cook dinner every night and, of course, dishes too. Since I am the dishman. And I’ve made you an appointment for a manicure because your hands look terrible. You’re just not cut out for doing dishes, poor thing. I promise I will never go away again until the children are both in elementary school.’
Don’t think of it as a script, think of it as a canvas, to be tweaked and enhanced.