Three days into Aught-Eight, and I'm still on vacation. Some people might say that shifting into primary caregiver mode and walking a pair of balaclava-ed boys off to school in subzero temperatures isn't much of a respite from the daily grind, but those people have fallen out of the Crazy Tree and hit every branch on the way down. I don't mind that there's zero chance of doing anything outside because of the icy wind that freezes your nostrils shut. I don't mind that TwoBert is in love with every Christmas gift that makes noise and likes to rend the silence with repetitive button-pushing that would make for a lovely game of "Thomas The Tank Engine Has Tourette's." I don't mind that Robert wrinkled his nose at the roast chicken I made ("There's too much lemon!") and reacted even less favorably to the chicken soup I made from the homemade, boiled-carcass stock ("There's too much thyme!").
This is the life, and these are the days.
Incidentally, the title of this post is something I said to another parent while TwoBert and I were waiting to collect Robert from school yesterday. If there's a better idea for the New Official Laid-Off Tagline, I'd like to hear it.
