A few hours ago I sent off the latest chunk of my Jessica Day story to my writing group.

I wish I had more time.

I wish I had more time not being bothered.

I wish I had more time to study and learn.

Just think of all the time I would have if I didn’t waste it wishing on having more time.

Errr…???

I had to yell at one of the kids to peel their cheese, from the sandwich I made them, off of the backyard table where they had flung it. This was after yelling at one of the girls to go back inside and deal with the deposit they left in the toilet that they somehow ‘forgot’ to flush.

“It doesn’t always go down…”

“Then why is there paper in there along with the rest of it?” I know that paper goes down easily and doesn’t pop back up as residual chunks tend to do.

I pulled out some pool toys from the shed for the kids to use and noticed that one of them, my favorite of course, had a hole in it. Had it been used, the stuffing, small chunks of styrofoam, would have escaped and clogged the pool filtering unit which would result in a costly repair. No sooner than I say they can’t use it as it’s broken, they come up with some plan on using it to intentionally clog in the surface intake part that skims the surface water. Their plan, since I said it was it wasn’t to be used, was to use it in the most destructive way possible. How the frick do they come up with these bass-ackward plans? I’m not made of money.

The wife and I were planning on taking the kids up to grandma’s house in Oregon and her and I ditching them there for about a week while we spend some time on the coast. That plan has now been changed to all of us visiting with grandma for a few days and then the four of us going to the coast for a ‘family vacation’. I was looking forward to the NO KIDS time as I feel this extended year of covid time has worn me thin. I don’t even get this.

Maybe I should tell the wife I’m going up to Tahoe or something and pack a bag but in truth just rent a hotel in town and lock my mentally weary self in for 24 hours. Now don’t go thinking I have ulterior motives or anything. I don’t. I just want to be able to enjoy some silence and try and rest.

Is that so wrong?

Last night, my wife allowed our son to bring his dinner plate along with a tall cup of orange juice up to our bed so he could eat there while watching a show. My wife and I have a rule that we don’t like food being brought upstairs due to the kids being horrible destructive slobs with no regard for anything that isn’t holding their interest. Now I know you might be thinking he spilled it, you would be half right. He finished his dinner and placed the empty plate and half-empty glass on my nightstand. Not the wife’s side, she was on her side of the bed, so my side was the lazier to reach. I finish my stuff downstairs and head up to go to bed. I notice the food on my side of the bed and scold my son for having it there and my wife says it was her idea. So I’m thinking, Okay, so it’s your responsibility.

I pick up the plate and cup and move them to her side of the bed and place them on top of her dresser with the cup in the middle of the plate and the plate resting on a small stolen airline blanket that the cat uses as a bed. I elect to not demand my son take it downstairs as he has high anxiety issues over the stupidest of things and melts down. I swear he is still a four-year-old that is afraid of whatever doesn’t allow him to have his way. My wife buys into his crap as she is his Beverly Goldberg to his little snookums ploys. I adhere to what my wife has asked of me on so many occasions in order to avoid unnecessary conflict, pick your battles.

Fine. This will be your mess, not mine.

I get into bed and pull up my kindle and once more attempt to bring up a book to read. I can’t focus as my daughter also comes in and in between everyone talking, and the TV going on, I can’t focus. I switch to a game of Freecell and soon zone out with that.

Twenty minutes later I notice one of the family cats has jumped up onto the dresser and is clutzing his way around. The others in our family gave him the name of Aiden. I refused and rechristened him as ‘Doofy’ for it fits him. In my mind the cat named himself. He is always tripping over things and knocking things over. Yeah, you know what’s coming, it’s not much of a leap. I lower my kindle and say to the wife and boy between my side of the bed and the dresser, “Doofy is looking like he is going to knock over the juice.”

The wife and boy start laughing as the cat is doing his ungrateful aerobatics.

I again say, “No, really. He looks like he is going to knock it over.”

Another round of laughing.

Ten seconds later the cat tips the cup over and my wife turns into a rage monster.

Guess what… it’s my fault for placing the plate there.

Uh… bite me?

We get into a screaming match as ‘we can’t ever have anything nice in our house because it’s always getting destroyed’ *(She means me for those of you that aren’t picking up on that)

I try my best to explain how, yes, I placed the illegal plate up there. I own that much. I also try to point out the illegal plate shouldn’t have been upstairs, to begin with, and how I gave several warning alarms about how ‘The Doofies are coming, the Doofies are coming” but how they went unheeded.

Doesn’t matter.

I’m finished with this story rant.

Tootles….