So back to Christmas for a hot sec. My amazing and extremely generous brothers get me and the kids some really awesome gifts. I am super grateful and blah blah but you know who really comes out on top? Matty. People in my family like to get him “experience” gifts, if you will. Maybe it’s because they love him, maybe because they wanna hang out with him, but I really think it’s because they wanna fuck me in the ass. (Yeah.).
This year, Matty walked away from Christmas morning with forth row mid-week bruins tickets, and a four day golf trip to Florida with my dad and brothers. Well ain't that gunna be a lotta special quality mommy and son time! So here we are. Bruins night.
Now I do not take for granted for one second the amazingness I have with Matt getting home on the earlier side from work. All you mamas out there with dads/partners/whatevers rollin’ in after dinner and bath time, I bow down to you. For me, the second I opened my eyes this morning and remembered that Matt wasn’t going to be home until 11pm I felt like I had taken a penalty shot to the face. (Kewl hockey reference, Mom.) You know what I mean though, right? When you have to mentally gear up to parent alone even for a minute longer than you normally have to, it somehow feels like you have double the amount of children and half the amount of patience. And for those of you thinking, "No, I don't know. You have to parent your own two kids that you wanted for one night by yourself that's actually not a big deal at all." Well, you are right, but I am a pussy. So there.
I met up with some friends and their crazies at an indoor jumping place (that’s how I am describing it, so envision whatever you want) at 10am. Figured I would let them jump some of their psycho away to ensure a smooth afternoon and evening. But like so many of my other well-thought out plans, this one bit me right in the ass.
The jumping was fine-ish. Rex definitely jumped himself tired, but spent a large portion of the time asking for snacks. Rocky was very oddly shy and a little overwhelmed by the whole thing. I mean, of course he wants to jump from the coffee table to the couch and from the toybox into a storage bin multiple times a day at home, but the regulated and safe industrial fucking trampoline park wasn’t interesting at all. Should have been complete bonerville for him and he froze. Hopefully some high school foreshadowing.
Toddler time lasts two hours and none of us made it that long. We headed into the attached mall. We hit up the theme park ...
and the zoo...
and finished it off with some fine dining
In between each activity Rex had a massive meltdown because he either wanted to be carried, get a toy from the toy store, or "not pee". Our outing ended with him screaming and crying as I chased him through the mall food court, weaving through all the kind judgmental people starting at me. Oh, and Rocky did a backflip off his seat mid 11am chicken nugget and landed on his head. I had to carry them both out to the car crying. One on each hip. (Please don’t forget that Rex is the size of my high school boyfriend.)
You know those awesome moments in Momland when you see some poor broad with none of her shit together and some insanely whacked out kids and you say to yourself, “Oh, God. I am KILLING this mom thing compared to THAT girl!” Well, I was nice enough to provide all the mommies in the mall with that warm, wonderful feeling. So, if you are reading this any of you---you’re welcome.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. I tried to push a homemade movie theater complete with popcorn and candy to get them to dial into some screen time. No dice. 4pm rolled around and I kind of almost cried a couple of times but instead I pulled the wheels off of a fire engine and bit down really hard on a book to let some of my negative energy out. That sounds both weird and psycho but it’s the truth so it’s all I got. And it was far better than killing them.
Now they are both in bed and here I am, blah-blahing to all of you. Neither one put up a bedtime fight, so I think I won that battle. Although last time I had a fucker of a day and Matt wasn’t home for bedtime Rocky woke up the next morning with his sneakers still on. So, I guess I shouldn’t give myself the W just yet.
That four day Florida trip should be real fun.