It has been a long day.
Kevin’s kids are generally well-behaved,* but they seem have about one day a week when they descend into howling barbarism–if we’re lucky, that’s a weekday, so there’s only a few hours before they can be summarily banished to bed, but today it fell on Saturday, which means that we have had a constant recitation of the Greatest Hits of Parenting, which include such perennial favorites as “Furniture Is Not For Jumping,” “If You Have All That Energy I Will Find Something For You To Do,” “Do You Call That Clean?”, “When I Was Your Age…” “Oh For The Love Of God Do I Have To Stand Over You While You Do It, Because I Will,” “Furniture Is Not For Jumping (Refrain)” “Why Is There Screaming?” “We Do Not Eat Our Food Like Viking Berserkers” and of course “If You Two Do Not Settle Down Right This Minute You Will Spend The Rest Of The Day Sitting On Your Bed Quietly In The Dark.” Kevin performs most of these, but I join in on the choruses and have learned most of the words to the one about furniture.
Then of course the adults gather in the master bedroom and engage in a few spoken word hits, such as “I Hear New Zealand Is Looking For Sys Admins” and “If We Sold Them For Their Organs, Would We Have To Share The Money With Their Mother?” plus bonus track “Dude, You Have Broken My Cat, He Was Not Like This Before You Got Him Hooked On The Laser Pointer.”
Despite this, some things got accomplished. I could probably even remember them if I put my mind to it.
Kevin did make a fabulous dinner, having seen a show on the legendary Minneapolis Jucy Lucy (you split the burger in half, fill it with cheese, rejoin, and cook) which I remember from various dive bars back in the day. Of course, partway through preparation, he decided to put his ice-cold hands on me, because I am warm, which made me scream my usual muppet-in-a-blender scream, which made the beagle, who had been quietly eating, think that His Person was under attack. He began baying hysterically (apparently this provides some defensive bonuses, I don’t know) but he had a mouthful of food, so he inhaled kibble, and spent the next five minutes hacking and retching around the kitchen, adding significantly to the festivities.
So it was a long day, and not over yet. I am still anticipating a few repeats, probably including “No, You Did Not Take A Shower, I Was Right Here And Furthermore You Are Not Even Damp” “Well, Go Look For It, Don’t Stand There Staring At ME, I Don’t Have It” and perhaps “Get Out Of The Litterbox, You Disgusting Dog” which has a different target audience.
Ten more years until the youngest is eighteen. And then I may never wear pants in the house again.
*For boys in that age range, an important qualifier.