My kids may think they get the upper hand, but they don’t, not really. Take the trend recently where my children seem to think both they and I don’t need a break from one another in the afternoon – a restful one. Oh, widdle kids no wanna take the nappy? We’ll see about that. Take them to the beach for three hours (with snacks, water, and sunscreen) where they foolishly cannot help themselves, like monkeys on crack, from running their asses all over the place and having a big splashy, sandy time. Pry them off the beach, home to a quick rinse-off, and end result? Both of them, crashed out, asleep together in the time-out crib. Aw yeah bitches.
The beach is great. Mamas show up (sometimes bearing frosty beverages with a malt content; not today, though), kids show up, high school boys run around half-naked. Never too many people and no dogshit or traffic. Today as is my wont to do I caught a crab to keep in the bucket (briefly) for the kids. Even at 3 1/2 inches long, he was fucking terrifying, waving his claws and strenuously leaping about. I named him BallCutter and stood watch so the kids wouldn’t lose the end of a pinky.
But apparently being in the sun has its toll on me as well; I’m having one of those, “Can’t I just hang out in PJ’s post-beach? Must I do the finances? Must I think of what to make for dinner?” days. Days like today I wish my kids were TV-trained a little better; I’d have them on my Harry Potter DVD until Daddy got home.
This weekend I think Sophie and I are hitting the reptile zoo up north. Interested toddler-mamas, do apply.