I’ve never really liked post-apocalyptic movies.
You know the ones, where the world is shit, whether by circumstance or calamity, and everyone left is fighting for survival and scrounging for sustenance. Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome‘s dry, desert dystopia just depresses me (although I definitely enjoyed Fury Road). Everyone is so dirty! It looks miserable. One of the reasons people prefer The Empire Strikes Back to Star Wars is because for once, a href=”https://instagram.com/p/4bzR5EjepO” target=”_blank”>Tattoine isn’t involved.
The good news is I’m almost 40; the odds of having to experience such a hellscape in real life dwindle with every birthday I have. The bad news is that with every birthday he has, my son may actually be getting closer to experiencing such a life.
Thankfully, I don’t really care.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe how quickly your kid is growing up.
Detective Munch has his last day of preschool today (he can have the ceremony, he can get the diploma, but I’ll be dead in the cold cold ground before I refer to it as graduation!) In September he’ll start Kindergarten, and he can already hold actual conversations and ride a bike and dress himself and brush his own teeth (each with varying degrees of success, but with enough general success that I’m counting them all). He’s still far from being a young man, or even truly independent in any way, but he’s definitely getting there.
At least I thought he was, until I watched him play tee-ball. because guess what? Turns out there may be no crying in baseball, but there’s plenty in tee-ball.
Is there anything more enticing to kids than a bouncy house?
Is there anything more nerve-wracking for parents than a bouncy house?
Most of these unregulated party props serve as manic mosh pits full of kids ranging from toddler to teen, and every one of them leaves their brain outside along with their sneakers. The only thing worse than the maelstrom that ensues should you try to prevent your kid from setting foot inside one of those things (forget Deflategate, Inflategate is REAL!) is the heart attack that ensues while you watch them navigate the bouncy box of doom.
Some holes just weren’t meant to be squeezed through, whether you’re wearing shoes or not!
(Allow me to apologize IMMEDIATELY for that imagery.)
According to the hourly reminders that someone set on my phone, Mother’s Day is this weekend. It’s the one solitary day all year long that anyone ever says anything nice about moms.
That last line there was a little bit of sarcasm. Because let’s face it, when it comes to parenting, moms already get all the praise.
Sure, that “praise” often calcifies into “being taken for granted,” which is just about complaint #1 from women everywhere (along with “I want more romance/passion!” and “socks go IN the hamper, not NEAR the hamper!”) but if you think about it, it’s a positive thing! Abilities and skills are only taken for granted once someone comes to rely on them. Kudos, moms everywhere! You’ve raised the bar for yourselves.
Unfortunately, that bar is just a little too high for your liking. So I’m going to level the playing field.
So last week was kind of shitty.
Taxes screwed us. The New York City public school system lottery screwed us. I got sunburn. I went to the dentist. My landlord raised the rent. I got spoiled on “The Americans”. I thought Harrison Ford kind of ruined the Star Wars trailer. It was pretty lame all around.
As a result, I found myself in a bit of a funk for a few days. Thank god I have a kid.