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Saturday Masochism

I'm tired. And I have a headache. And we're leaving in a few days to go on a major road trip for which I don't think we're even remotely physically, logistically, or emotionally prepared. I think we may have picked the wrong month to try this daily post nonsense. But here I am, the rule-follower, unable to blow off a commitment no matter how detrimental it may now seem. This is one of the many masochistic features of my personality that I can't seem to shake. (Specific, more recent versions of this include Daily Trips To The Gym and also Repeated Attempts at Rationalizing With Pre-Schoolers.)

Today there were failed attempts at phone conversations with both of my parents in the presence of the kids, who think that my being on the phone signifies the beginning of the apocalypse wherein they morph from fledgling, mostly harmless demons into full-size, legitimately frightening dark lords with the sole purpose of driving me over the nearest cliff, or insane, whichever comes first (it's always insanity). After I gave up any thought of talking to either one of my confused and disgusted parents while the dark lords were delightedly jabbing me with their scepters of evil, I grabbed the car keys in desperation. "Come on kids. We're going to buy a tea kettle. I can't go one more second in this house living with tea kettle deprivation. It's absolutely ridiculous."

This seemed to soothe them, I suppose because they were hoping for some fresh blood out in public locations full of stupid, stupid people who thought a trip to Target would end in nothing but plastic bags filled to the brim with happiness shaped a lot like new coat hangers and a 12-pack of Snapple. Instead, the other Target patrons got to witness the dark lords' mother hissing at them within two minutes of stepping foot into the store. Nice. You think white trash is bad? Try DEMONIC trash. As soon as we all apologized and wiped demon slime tears from everyone's scaly cheeks, Bryce had to go to the bathroom, which meant that the three of us had to pile into the first and most foul-smelling stall we could find. I almost fainted from disgust, but the dark lords didn't seem to mind it.

By the time we'd accomplished all of that, I was done attempting to administer any sort of discipline or restore any sense of order to the situation. The kids were hanging off the cart at all angles, yelling at passers by, and insisting that my mom's birthday card somehow include SpongeBob.

I found a tea kettle, and the day did end with Mexican food and margaritas, so all was not in vain.

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