My husband is taking the week off of work so we can have a Staycation.
Days of fun amusement parks, local activities for kids, matinee movies, Brooklyn pizza, Central Park Zoo, maybe even an overnight somewhere if the mood for a family road trip strikes.
This Together Time sounds all lovely and amazing, until I start thinking about The Popsicle Detonator.
Fact: The more fun you make your kids’ day, the more likely they will lose their shizzle at the end of it over the Just One More Thing they want.
One more ride. One more friend. One more show. One more damned popsicle.
For example, you may start your day with a few hours at the pool. After lunch, you head home to make cookies together and have friends over to play. You rent the kids’ favorite movie, enjoying popcorn & cookies. That afternoon, you hit the playground for an hour after a dinner of pizza and Rocket Pops.
On the way home, all happy and ready for bed, you pass an ice cream truck, playing its’ dastardly tune.
The kids ask for popsicles.
You kindly say “No” while reminding them they just had some with dinner.
The kids FREAK THE HELL OUT, weeping, whining, screeching about how they NEVER get ANYTHING they EVER ask for.
You feel unappreciated and get mad.
Now everyone’s yelling.
Great day? Ruined.
By that Just One More Thing they wanted.
(Stupid Ice Cream Trucks and their stupid delicious popsicles…)
Sure, as the SAHM I’m used to driving the kids home from the most Awesome Summer Camp/Play date/Museum Visit EVER, only to have them ask “What are we doing now?”
But my husband isn’t.
He is a normal human being who thinks that one big super fun activity should be enough for one day.
Clearly, the kids disagree with this preposterous concept of common sense.
So while it’s great to have him around for a week of opportunities for me to eat cotton candy and fried dough and candied applies new family memories to be made, I dread the likely arrival of The Popsicle Detonator.
Like a pair of weeping blisters from new summer sandals, I know it’s most likely our awesome days will end in tears over the one more…whatever.
I just hope I can keep my cool – and Husband’s – when the backseat turns from a Happy Place Where Satisfied Kids Sit to a holding cell for rabid monkeys hell bent on a banana crack fix, since we’ve waited patiently all summer long to have this special week with Daddy.
Maybe keeping myself high on cotton candy for a week will help me tolerate the potential mood explosions in the back seat. (It’s worth a try, dontcha think?)
Or maybe I’m just over-thinking, and my kids will rally all week long, without a single back seat tantrum….
Yeah – that made me laugh, too.