Square Peg ● Round Hole







Well, I survived the outing to the Ariana Grande concert with the boys last night.   My enjoyment was mostly watching Bailey dance and Bryce complain about how loud it was.  Seriously, he is fifteen and way to young to sound like an old man.   While we were gone, I had asked Brian to unload the dishwasher, put the front lights on and take care of the dogs.   This, in essence, is the same conversation I have with the two teenagers when I leave the house.

Personally, I know the euphoric feeling when everyone leaves me alone.   However, I don’t recall anyone reminding me to “do chores” when they leave because, well, truth be told, it is just apart of my makeup to assure the house is orderly.   As I sat at the concert, I was thinking about how great my pajamas would be at that moment and how girl’s shrills are highly dangerous to the ear drum.   It brought me gratitude on two levels.  One that she did a very short encore and two, boys don’t shrill.  At least mine don’t.

When we arrived home, the mirage of my pajamas and bed disappeared as I was greeted with a dark house, dishwasher full of  clean dishes, and dogs who looked unusually grateful that I came home.   Bags from BW3 were strewed on the counter.  My vision of Brian quickly went to his face being masked by wing sauce and an unresponsive food coma.   While that may have been a stretch, he was a touch comatose without the facial mask of wing sauce.   Sluggish and drunk from his food binge, he made several excuses.  None of which I heard since my ears were still ringing from the concert.  The boys scurried to their rooms like cockroaches.  I am not sure he registered the death glare, but he did follow the leadership of his boys and disappeared.

All in all, my evening was far better than anticipated.   Any chance with my boys is always fun, even if I had to wallow through the intensity of high pitched screams.     How is Brian you ask?  Well, he is slowly emerging from his food coma and his stomach kept him up most of the night.    I venture to say that nights out with my boys need to be spaced accordingly.   It may kill Brian otherwise.