Dude's Night In
I fully support my wife's rare opportunities to spend an evening away from the tykes, as long as she a) comes home and b) doesn't smell like a Chippendale. I've usually had one of the grandparents here as a backup auxiliary child soother, but last night, I flew solo.
Erin performed like a dream. I had 'em both in pajamas by 7:45, then asked Ryan to talk to watch the silver Philips babysitter while I put Erin to bed. She gulped down most of a bottle of ChardonnAinsley, fell asleep in my arms, and stayed zonked the first plop in her crib -- and remained asleep until after midnight.
Unfortunately, Ryan was the bigger issue, still unable to shake a post-nasal drip cough, and feeling a mite needy: he called me up to his room twice, asking me to stay with him, and when I declined, telling him I had to listen for Erin, he'd start to cry, which I tried to shush. Hard to tell someone to stop crying in a manner that doesn't make them want to cry more, I've learned. I ended up curling up on his floor for fifteen minutes, the door creaked to listen down the hall. He was still up when I made some excuse, and didn't stop coughing until almost 11. Poor little fella.
Ainsley had a lovely evening with five of her friends -- "mushroom pasta at a friend's house", is this year's codeword for male jell-o wrestling -- and I'm glad she could do it. Still, it made me realize I haven't had a "guy's night out" in years. It all balances out, since I'm the one who gets to travel around the country and has ecto-familial contacts every weekday at The Pentagon. Still, those are forced marriages, not my chosen friends. I guess it doesn't help that my last friend turned out to be a stoner. Perhaps I should just stick to the military folks.
I was watching "The Incredibles" when the kids were in their rooms, and mused that I don't even have a friend to have a pretend bowling night where we really go out and fight crime. So I'm down to fighting crimes on my own, and mostly ones of fashion, specifically how I end up dressing my daughter. Apparently purple doesn't go with chartreuse. And while I've been able to get barrettes out of my daughter's hair, damned if I'm going to stick one of those fashionable head staples in there unsupervised.
Erin performed like a dream. I had 'em both in pajamas by 7:45, then asked Ryan to talk to watch the silver Philips babysitter while I put Erin to bed. She gulped down most of a bottle of ChardonnAinsley, fell asleep in my arms, and stayed zonked the first plop in her crib -- and remained asleep until after midnight.
Unfortunately, Ryan was the bigger issue, still unable to shake a post-nasal drip cough, and feeling a mite needy: he called me up to his room twice, asking me to stay with him, and when I declined, telling him I had to listen for Erin, he'd start to cry, which I tried to shush. Hard to tell someone to stop crying in a manner that doesn't make them want to cry more, I've learned. I ended up curling up on his floor for fifteen minutes, the door creaked to listen down the hall. He was still up when I made some excuse, and didn't stop coughing until almost 11. Poor little fella.
Ainsley had a lovely evening with five of her friends -- "mushroom pasta at a friend's house", is this year's codeword for male jell-o wrestling -- and I'm glad she could do it. Still, it made me realize I haven't had a "guy's night out" in years. It all balances out, since I'm the one who gets to travel around the country and has ecto-familial contacts every weekday at The Pentagon. Still, those are forced marriages, not my chosen friends. I guess it doesn't help that my last friend turned out to be a stoner. Perhaps I should just stick to the military folks.
I was watching "The Incredibles" when the kids were in their rooms, and mused that I don't even have a friend to have a pretend bowling night where we really go out and fight crime. So I'm down to fighting crimes on my own, and mostly ones of fashion, specifically how I end up dressing my daughter. Apparently purple doesn't go with chartreuse. And while I've been able to get barrettes out of my daughter's hair, damned if I'm going to stick one of those fashionable head staples in there unsupervised.
posted by Dan at 2:30 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home