Sunday, May 07, 2006
Can't Stop; Addicted To The Shindig
Birthday Season 2006 is now two-thirds of the way through as I write this. The middle child is already 5 and the youngest, as of today, is now 3. We had us a party and everything with an inflatable bouncy-house thing, white trash hors-d'oeuvres (peanut M&Ms in the fancy servin' dish, Ruffles with Lipton soup+sour cream dip), my home-made salsa, burgers and bratwurst on the grill, NO hookers, NO blow and not one single person throwing up in the fish tank. So as parties go, it was kind of medium.
As my wife is gainfully employed while I have time to blog, getting the house people-ready fell to me. It took me a week--a week--to make it habitable for other people who are not my wife and kids and myself. But then our tolerance for airborne allergens and for stepping over toys is well-honed to the point of superhuman. Our house in its natural state can kill lesser families.
Just to give you an idea of the work involved, I spent two hours on Saturday just sweeping the patio. I swept and swept and swept everything that vaguely resembled dirt. I swept until I accidentally dug up the cat. That's how thorough I was trying to be.
Between all that sweeping and a day full of forward flips and basically ruling the big inflatable mosh pit that is the Sponge-Bob jumper, Pops sleepy. So very sleepy.
I deserve to sit on my recliner and chase M&Ms with a tall frosty glass of 2-Liter Kamikaze (the leftover remnants of our 2-liter party bottles of soda all mixed together in one glass) while watching The Sopranos.
You people talk amongst yourselves. You're getting pretty good at it lately anyway. Frankly, we're reaching the point when even I don't read this shit and skip straight to the drama of the comment section.
You guys are the bestest.
I may be slightly punchy.
And this is where I bid you goodnight.
À demain, mes enfants.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.9