It’s hard to complain about anything when you’ve been able to take a few days off and escape with the family to a semi-abandoned timeshare in the land of over-landscaped golf courses. That said there’s something very un-relaxing about spending those days ferrying around three teenagers who can’t be bothered to see where they’re going because they’re sending text message number 8,423 of the day to their boyfriend, or playing game number 2,500 on their DS or simply going whatever place in their vacuous heads that teenagers go that gives them the glassy-eyed stare of a decade-long heroin addict. Let’s just say yesterday didn’t provide a very Cleaver-like moment and I let the kids and everyone within a 20 mile radius know that I wasn’t cool with it.
Let me be clear: I blew a gasket. It wasn’t an epic gasket-blowing, but it did involve threats of packing up and heading home a couple of days early. It did include the time-tested “you have no clue how lucky you are that we’re able to go on vacation” line that’s been used by every parent for generations. I even threw in the “you kids just don’t appreciate what your Mom and I do for you” line. I don’t think the latter two statements had much of an effect, but I think the threat of a 7 hour drive with a pissed off Dad did have a sobering effect. We ended up having a nice dinner.
And as always when I lose it I crashed early, had a fairly restless sleep and popped awake at some gawdawful early hour (5:00 a.m.). At least I get to enjoy a quiet cup (or twelve) of coffee.
Merry Christmas Eve everybody. And yes, Mom, I do appreciate the irony of all this.
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