You have to do the blog.
Huh? (the same kind of huh that my chocolate lab gives me when I’m telling her not to do any more landscaping)
When I’m gone this weekend, you can do the blog.
(Again, I see her lips moving but have no idea what’s she saying)
You see, it’s that time of year when my wife and a small collection of her girlfriends from college collect together in some obscure, out of the way (and hopefully free) rendezvous to reaffirm that indeed the college years were spectacular and that gravity is indeed evil. It really does invigorate her and I’m glad for her to go. She works hard and not only deserves these three days but the whole spring in my opinion.
However, in order for her to fully enjoy the splendor of the reunion (did you catch the free reference above?), she must entrust me with the children for the weekend lest we pay a babysitter a small fortune. I have no problem with this plan. After all, I have a partial degree in psychology and a full degree in poopie. I’ve been a parent for over eight years and will roll up my sleeves with the best Oprah fans. But this blog thing…
Really, if you get a chance, you can do the blog. I left the instructions by the computer. It’ll be fun.
Oh, I know what you said but what I heard was “if you can get the children dressed, hair combed, off to school along with the by-the-way-I-need-a-birthday-present-for-an-impromptu-class-party, fed with something besides meat sticks for over three days, on time for two basketball games, play thirty-six rounds of Uno and survive just one round of High School Musical The Game, treat Mary Mac for the croup, replace the leaking toilet, wash, dry and fold enough children’s clothing to stock Target, arrive just 15 minutes late for church instead of 10, review the pertinent, albeit silly, points of Inspector Gadget the Movie and capture the aforementioned lab who escaped no less than three times into our neighbor’s “serenity garden” then I could do the blog.
Time passes slowly but-okay. Done. It’s late Saturday night and I’ve checked off almost all those appropriate boxes- sans one:
Bloggin’. I've spent all weekend imitating my better half and now I'm supposed to take time to record my daddy bonding time while my wife is away having a good time. This is going to take some effort considering a certain mindset is necessary, and way more estrogen than I possess, so I watch a recorded episode of The View, review last month’s Southern Living and finish four Exotic Berry wine coolers in order to just fire up the computer for said task.
And here I sit.
Not a single Mary Mac story. No new medication interactions. No costumes or jingles. No underwear wearing /sparkly lip gloss smackin / potty pollutin' stories. Just me and Bartles and James.
Then I realized just like my favorite Christmas character, the Grinch, that maybe this blog doesn’t come in “packages, boxes and bags. Maybe…this blog…perhaps…means a little bit more (apologies to Dr. Seuss)." Maybe, this blog is just simply about joy. Pure love for life kind of joy. The kind of joy that is captured in the hearts of children and, if you’re especially blessed, in the heart of a wife like mine. Joy that comes from watching your son’s eyes look for you in the crowd after he makes a basketball shot. Joy that comes from your daughter’s glow after you tell her she looks at least five instead of three. That warm “let’s all fit into daddy’s lap” and just "be with us" kind of joy. And especially that kind of joy that comes from your children who tell you that this was the best weekend ever…and all you did was take some of your time…and, of course, lose Uno on purpose.
So, I confess, this bloggin' thing isn't so bad. Taking a few moments to type out what's really on your heart could, actually, do us all some good. I love you, Joni, just for being you and especially for all the joy you bring to our family.
Stupid wine coolers…they make me all sappy.
PS I forgot to mention that we did some shopping.