Went out to breakfast with the family today. Mom, Dad, Darling Husband, the kids and me. While at breakfast we had one of the usual conversations:
Mom was upset that Dad still hasn’t gotten rid of the old kerosene in the basement. Dad says, “Oh, it’s only one quart.” And Mom points out that that one quart of kerosene has been getting in her way in the basement for twenty years. When I snickered, she gave me The Look and said, “I am Not Kidding. It’s been there Twenty Years.” (Twenty years, Jerry!)
This is an ongoing conversation. Mom tries to get rid of Dad’s stuff, Dad does his best to outmaneuver Mom. Dad’s most recent strategy is to pass everything on to Darling Husband. “Keeping it in the family” is how they refer to it. I am so not liking this newest tactic.
Here’s Boy7 walking home from the restaurant. He’s rating the different lawn ornaments in front of the houses on our street. He wants to decorate our yard with Easter Eggs. Yeah…maybe we should take down the Christmas lights first. Or! Or we could tape a plastic egg over each little light and call them Easter Lights!
I’m writing this at lunchtime today. I’m supposed to be homeschooling the kids, but Darling Husband works at a college and has off for Spring Break and is creating an irresistible distraction for the kids.
Spring Break when you’re 44 and married with kids is a whole ‘nuther animal from spring break when you’re 21 and single. So far he’s cleaned out the basement, the screened-in porch, and the backyard. By the way he’s happily puttering around Getting Things Done, I suspect he’s having just as much fun as if he was on the beach somewhere.
No, not really. That’s just what old, married people with kids like us, tell ourselves so we don’t weep in despair and run out to buy yellow convertibles we can’t really afford. “Oooeee! Havin’ fun cleaning up the yard! Wouldn’t even wanna be on a beach right now anyway. All that sunshine and fresh air makes my gout act up.”
But he missed the sock in the backyard. How does this happen? That sock has been stuck there on that piece of wood for about two years. I was just about to throw it out, but I took a picture of it instead. Eventually it’ll disintegrate in the weather, right? If the kids observe it and log their observations, we can rework this into a science project. We can put a plastic bag next to the sock to show how plastic isn’t biodegradable. Ooooo! Now that’s some serious science!
With all this cleaning out comes the run to the dump. And when you have two young boys in the house, it’s almost impossible to concentrate on doing your math work when Darling Husband is off gallivanting at the dump. In a truck! A truck! Irresistible.
They just got back between dump runs. Boy9 found a broken knife at the dump that he wants to keep and show off to his friends. Hey, it’s better than the machetes from Walmart the boys wanted to buy with their Christmas money. When I said, “Um, NO!” I got big frowny, disbelieving faces: “But Mooooom! It’s our own money! C’mon!”
Why can’t boys be more like girls and come back from the dump with a pretty flower? Why does it have to be a rusty old knife? And why can’t I say the word knife without using an Australian accent?