I thought my job was done.
It has been a while since I have written about grocery carts. I thought the cart warriors had won the war, and all carts were being returned to their proper places. Sadly, I have noticed of late that those in rebellion of common courtesy have begun to pop up again. We drove the villains to their hiding spots, but they have become emboldened again, emerging from their dark hiding spots to wreak havoc on humanity.
I am glad my kids are at the age where going to the movies is a fully enjoyable experience.
Don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed taking them to movies when they were younger. But to say that it was fully enjoyable would be, well, a lie. Taking a small child to a movie is like taking a small monkey to a movie, only one with a much a smaller bladder.
So there I was in the kitchen, busily covering my entire body with insect repellant, the “Pshhhhh” of the can covering me in protection.
I am one of the most delicious people on the planet to mosquitoes, and if I so much as think about going outside, enormous welts will pop all over my body on the mere thought of providing the blood sucking buffet for my neighborhood menaces.
It’s the age-old debate – is it OK to lie to your children?
Let’s settle the debate right now – it absolutely is, and it’s actually rather necessary to survive being a parent.
This point was driven home as I was at dinner with my family recently. In a nearby booth was a young girl, maybe three. It was evident that she is close to being potty trained, based on her repeated attempts to go use the restroom. After the 37th attempt to climb out of the booth and go potty, I heard her dad say, “No, we can’t. Remember – the potty is broken here.”
I had to cut to the chase. There was no beating around the bush. No soft sell. I texted my wife:
“The end may be near for Sybil.”
My wife sensed the gravity of the situation and texted me back the only thing that you really can in such a dire family moment: a frowny face emoticon.
As a parent, you rather quickly develop a sensor that gauges the severity of your child’s peril. For example, you can quickly tell if wails of anguish are a result of an argument over possession of the remote control and the screams of horror are mainly an attempt to get a little brother in trouble. But you can also tell when it’s something real. And I knew it was something real.
It was one of those moments where life goes into slow-mo.
I was outside by the pool, partaking in one of my evening cleaning sessions. I find evening the best time to clean the pool, as I have yet to have anyone do a surprise cannonball at 11:00 at night.
It’s graduation season.
I’d love to pen one of those columns that tells all the grads out there about the wonderful world awaiting them and all the perspectives they should keep from here on out. It would go viral and set the Internet abuzz and would be shared and e-mailed and eventually be attributed to Patton Oswalt or Chelsea Clinton or one of those guys with the long beards on that show that has something to do with ducks. But quite frankly, I think all of those have been written (and I personally think the “Wear Sunscreen” one is still tops).
So recently, we had some friends stay at our house for a couple of days. They were relocating from Ft. Lauderdale to upstate New York, and we were one of the ports along the way as they transplanted their entire world from the bottom of the country to the top.
The game officially ended in a tie. But I walked away without a limp, so in my book, it was a huge win.
Yes, I have successfully endured a soccer game, having competed in the kids vs. adults game at my daughter’s school.