You Know It's Gonna Be a Rough Week When...

...it's only Monday night and you've already said, "to Hades with the dishes" and you've cracked open a cold one and headed up to the computer with chips and salsa.

(And sour cream. I don't know if I've mentioned it, but States-y sour cream is better than its less tangy and less creamy Canadian cousin. It is also cheaper, due to totally unfair and illegal farming subsidies. But I digress.)

I don't know why, but whenever The Husband travels, this house (and its occupants) falls apart before the whiff of his plane's jet fuel has stopped lingering. I think that when it's one of me and two of Them, an uphill battle becomes a losing one so I hunker down and try to ride out the storm.

Not that today was all that bad. We had a quick supper and headed over to this hee-ooj indoor park complete with four-storey play structure. Here's the kids post-play:

I get all nostalgic when I see t-shirts and sweatpants and boots. It reminds me of my childhood (most particularly grades 4-6 when I refused to even own a pair of jeans and instead clad myself only in the finest of knitwear).

But my day was nowhere near as bad as The Husband's. I got a call at work today:

"I'm driving around Barcelona by myself and it's 9:30 at night and I have no idea where I am. The 15-minute drive to my hotel has so far taken an hour. There are no street signs and I can't make anybody understand me."

See, there's really nothing all that glamourous about travelling for work. I don't know why I get so jealous of him.

Remind me I said this when I'm at tomorrow's special activity: Chuck E. Cheese.

(P.S. The ever-resourceful Husband finally got to his hotel - two hours late - by flagging down a taxi and busting through the language barrier to get the guy to understand that he wanted to follow his cab to the hotel. Ask him about it when he gets home - I'm sure he'll be laughing then.)