Tuesdays with AWOL

So sorry about yesterday. Had to work "in town" Tuesday, which means fewer opportunities for goofing off. Plus we were really busy trying to get two procedures cleaned up. Not that anybody in Blogland cares. Not that I care. I just know this puts me one day closer to curtailment, where I may recharge the batteries by taking three screaming kids on a long road trip to Mexico while on the way to Disneyland.

I've asked this question of some of my friends; now I'll ask it of you: Can you think of any good reason an upstart Internet travel company would need to rent a goat? Moral reasons, I mean. I await your musings on the subject.

I do plan on working on my novel during the trip. When I'm not scraping kids off the ceiling because they're so hopped up on vacation they can't stand it. In other thoughts, I may not survive this trip. I may go insane right now just to save time.

Read on the Intertubes this morning that fewer parents are reading bedtime stories to their children. Not so for us. That is, if reading the scriptures to them counts. We do read the occasional beditme story, but by the time it's bedtime, we spend a good half hour brushing teeth, getting pajamas on, shoving vitamins down their throats (as if they need the energy and body-boosting the vitamins provide). Then there are the drinks of water, the trips to the potty, the arguing with the three-year-old over where he wants to sleep (never where he's supposed to; once we caught him sleeping underneath the Christmas tree). So I do not feel guilty if the little rutabagas don't get a bedtime story read to them every night.

Parenting can certainly open your eyes to the things your parents did when you were a kid. I remember, too, resisting the bedtime thing. We got the occasional bedtime story, but more often than not we were happy to sit in bed and read by ourselves. I remember though, resenting that Mom and Dad got to "stay up" while the rest of us had to go to sleep. Then I had kids of my own, and realize that if I'm anything like my own parents, the things I do after the kids are to be aren't as exciting as I once believed of my own parents. I wash dishes, clean the kitchen. Michelle does laundry and catches up on the mending. I'll clean up the art table in the den, where the kids have left their messes from the day. We might turn on a movie during that time, catching glances at our favorite parts, but missing most of it because we're busy. Occasionally, I'll get on the computer and Michelle will scrapbook. But those are the rare nights. When the kids ask if they can stay up later, I'm in the habit now of asking, "So, what chore do you want to do?" That usually sends the seven-year-old into a quick coma. Nothing fazes Isaac, the youngest, however. We may have to invest in a rubber mallet. . .