I Love My Children Thiiiiiiis Much

Someday, my children and I will be seated in a therapist's office. They will be crying softly, having just connected all the dots and realized that I am to blame for the bulk of their problems.

Their therapist will speak to them gently and encourage them to turn to me and let it all out, reveal all their pain, confront me with the enormity of my misdeeds.

They will tearfully do so, and I will nod sadly, admitting that yes, I did throw away precious colouring pictures and that yes, I was a bully when I accused The Boy of being a crybaby. I'll plead "guilty" to any and all charges levelled against me.

But.

Emboldened, I will say, "My darlings, I have wronged you in so many ways. But do not fail to remember the day I made the ultimate parental sacrifice. The day I threw myself in front of the proverbial train for you. The day I suffered more than I have ever felt pain in my entire life."

"The day I took you to...




...the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie."



Good. Heavens. Above. This afternoon I decided to start our week without The Husband (who is travelling) off with a bang by taking the kids to a movie. They have been begging to see this movie since they saw a preview that included an animated chipmunk gyrating and singing "Chicka-wah-wah Chicka-wah-wah."

So I located a cinema still playing this monstrosity. Like a lamb to the slaughter, I even drove us all to a suburb 25 minutes away.

It was everything I had feared. High-pitched "singing" that sounded more like a cat caught in a dryer. Wooden acting. Even more wooden acting from the real people. And of course, fart jokes. So, also of course, the kids loved it.

I tried to drown my sorrows with the popcorn and drink I bought (forgot I was in the States, so stared open-mouthed when the trainee behind the counter handed me my 5 gallon bucket large-sized bag of sodium-laced goodness).

But the kids had fun, so I guess that's the most important part. With five more days to go until The Husband gets back, we've got a local indoor park, a mom and daughter from church over for supper, and a trip to Chuck E. Cheese planned. I've got to keep on top of the fun factor, or we'll all suffer.

At least, that's what's on the calendar. It may not end up happening, because if I can't get the &^%& Christmas Don't Be Late song out of my head, I may have to perform an emergency self-trepanation.