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At the risk of sounding like I’m fifty-five….is there nothing worth watching on television anymore? Maybe the selection offered by Air Canada on its international flights isn’t a representative sample of what is really ‘out there’ in the television world. But judging from the likes of ‘Gossip Girl‘, ‘The New Adventures of Old Christine’, ‘Beverly Hills 90210′ and ‘Burn Notice‘….I’m not missing much in my television-free home.
I did have a chance to catch up on some movies, because I have a strange obsession with utilizing things that are ‘free’ to me. For example, even though I was not hungry at 5.30am when the airline served me breakfast – I took the breakfast anyway. Even if it consisted of fat free yogurt which I do not eat, and one of those Otis Spunkmeyer-esque muffins (read: artificial) which I would only consider eating if I were starving and there was nothing else available. Which means I carried said items in my luggage for two days before throwing them out.
Why, oh why?
Same with the ‘free’ television at my disposal. Even though I was bone tired, and even though nothing from the Air Canada selection really appealed to my tastes, I still watched it. Because it was there. And because I’d already taken a thirty minute nap and couldn’t fall asleep again.
So I whiled away the hours by watching the tiny screen in front of me. On the way to London I watched ‘Burn After Reading’. Mostly because it had arrived at our house the same day, courtesy of Zip movie rentals. And I figured if I watched it then Jason could mail back our home copy as soon as he was done with it. When I told the first part of this story to David, the groom to be at the English wedding I attended, he said: [did you watch the same movie as Jason] so you two could talk about it?’ I couldn’t help but laugh. That sort of logic could only emanate from a newlywed, or about-to-be-wed.
On the return flight, I started my viewing marathon with ‘Rachel Getting Married.’ Now, I’m not a fan of Anne Hathaway, though I may have secretly enjoyed The Princess Diaries (first one, only). But, wasn’t she nominated for her performance in this film? So I decided to ‘give it a go’ as my English friends might say.
By the thirty minute mark I was so annoyed by the over-acting, and the contrived ‘feel’ of the whole thing that I hit the stop button. I may have an obsession with using ‘free’ things, but even I have my limits. I was tempted to try and find out WHY the sister was having an Indian-themed wedding despite the fact that she was Caucasian and marrying an African American gentleman. But, frankly, I didn’t have the stamina for it.
Since that turned out to be a bust, I checked out ‘Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist’ because Michael Cera is the cutest nerd I’ve ever seen. And this turned out to be a decent movie. By decent, I mean I was able to watch the whole thing without feeling like my eyes might get permanently stuck in the back of my head from rolling so much. Maybe it’s because Michael Cera didn’t wear excessive black eyeliner or over-acted his way through the movie.
And, because there were still MANY hours to go in my nine hour flight, I watched ‘The Secret Life of Bees’, after that. Also a perfectly fine movie – neither great nor terrible.
After that, there really weren’t any movies I could watch in good conscience, so I moved on to the television selections. There was a humorous episode of The Office – Season 4. And then there wasn’t much else, so I decided to catch up with the times and check out some of the new shows – like ‘Christine’ and ‘Gossip Girl’. After all, I loved Julia Louis-Dreyfuss as Elaine in Seinfeld. But maybe she’s just not meant to have her own show. The particular episode I watched featured her driving her Prius filled to the brim with recycling and dropping her kid off at private school while wearing a nightgown. I guess I can relate – except I don’t have a Prius or a kid in private school. But I didn’t so much as crack a smile for the first fifteen minutes, so I moved on to ‘Gossip Girl’. Which reminded me of a cross between Sex and the City and The OC: high school kids wearing uber-expensive clothes and spending their summers in The Hamptons? Complete with Carrie Bradshaw-esque voiceovers? Come on.
I may have watched the whole episode. But I won’t do it again.
I never worry about the boys when I leave them with Jason – whether it’s for an hour, or a few days. I’ve heard there are some men who get nervous about being left alone with children, even their own. Luckily he’s not one of those men. He is perfectly capable of feeding and clothing them, and keeping them entertained. And surviving to tell the tales. He even tells the tales well.
That said, I am well aware there are differences in our parenting styles and tolerances for certain things. So I know only too well that when I leave them solely in his care, things are bound to be a little different than when I’m around.
I arrived home early evening on Tuesday and everything appeared to be in good order. The house was rather clean, the boys seemed to have been recently fed, and were wearing clean clothes. I think the washing machine and dryer had even been used.
Of course, there were little hints of some of the anomalies of the Jason regime. Like the Costco receipt I happened upon within my first hour of being home. ‘You bought toaster pastries?’ I asked. ‘The boys like them,’ he offered as excuse for purchasing three containers of sugary pastry. Boys? Mostly the oldest ‘boy’, if I had to venture a guess. Funnily enough, they turned out to be made with organic flour and sweetened with fruit juice. So the only ones actually eating the toaster pastries are mother and oldest son. Father and youngest son don’t seem to care for them.
When I gathered the recycling for a trip to the dumpster, there was a clear plastic lid that had once belonged to a huge Costco pizza. The kind that look like the cheap grocery store pizzas of my childhood. Must have been dinner one night. Three of the five macaroni and cheese boxes I’d left behind had also disappeared. There was talk of eating cinnamon rolls for snacks AND breakfast.
But what I’ve noticed most of all, is that the Hen starts ‘asking’ (pointing and grunting, more like) to watch a movie from the minute he gets up in the morning. Apparently, ‘Daddy’ had allowed the boys to watch a movie with breakfast and dinner. ‘It was the only time I had for myself,’ he protested.
And so the detoxification process begins.
It should be mentioned that I took this photo yesterday after an unexpected trip to Jason’s work. Apparently (thanks to the awesome weather here)…the bus he was supposed to take, never came. So he walked back home – half an hour late for class at that point – and we had no choice but to hop in the car and take him to work. Despite the fact that two of us were still wearing our pajamas. And one of us hadn’t showered in thirty six hours or so. Lovely!
Flying back from London to Calgary, I had a considerably high level of excitement. Largely due to the mere thought of seeing my boys at the airport. The excitement all but disappeared, however, when the pilot made an announcement over the speaker system. ‘Currently, it’s minus fifteen degrees in Calgary and there are about four inches of freshly fallen snow on the ground.’ Why he felt the need to share that piece of bad news with me, I will never understand. Suddenly I had zippo desire to be back in Cowtown. It really didn’t matter that it was minus fifteen degrees Celsius, not Fahrenheit.
Though London may not exactly be the ‘promised land’ (at all), I much prefer its climate to Calgary’s. At least nine months of the year – the summers there are pretty muggy. As I rode in my friend Kyla’s car from Heathrow airport to her ‘flat’, I practically gushed about ‘the green grass’ and the ‘daffodils sprouting from the ground.’ She thought I was a little weird, going on about things like grass and daffodils, but she’s never been to Calgary. Actually, I may be the only person I’ve ever come across who likes the weather in London.
Frankly, blue skies and sunshine are highly overrated. Especially when partnered with subzero temperatures, and grass that hasn’t seen the light of day since December 6, 2008. Not that I’m keeping track.
So it’s been a little bit of a challenge, re-adjusting to life in Calgary.
I have mental images of myself walking the streets of London in a coat – no gloves, or hat. Feeling warm. I spent five whole days without mediating any fights, threatening to take away toys (taking away toys), or engaging in a battle of wills. The only time I saw a diaper was when a friend changed her little girl a few feet away from where I was sitting. I didn’t use a stern voice with anyone, not even once.
I had meals with people and no one asked me to cut their food or blow on it. No one cried because their food was too hot or too spicy or too ’something’. No one pilfered anything from my plate. There were conversations during the meals, and I listened – attentively – as people spoke. Not with one eye on the speaker and another eye scanning the room to make sure everything was okay. Occasionally, I spoke too. I might have even made some sense, but I don’t want to brag.
After meeting Karen, the bride-to-be, for brunch on the day before her wedding (at a nice place, where I didn’t even think about anyone spilling something or having to exit the restaurant in a cloud of shame), Kyla and I walked to Covent Garden. For the record, I walked past La Maison du Chocolat. I did not go in, and did not buy chocolates that cost 80 pounds per kilogram. We’re in a recession, after all, and being in London – just walking past the chocolate shop – was good enough. As we walked (nay, hobbled) along, it struck me that no one was complaining about the distance we were walking (well, except me – silently..because the Danskos on my feet felt like metal shackles) and no one asked me to carry them.
In the end, I didn’t do a whole lot in London – especially not by other tourists’ standards. I never made it to the London Eye. The only museum I spent any time in was the National Portrait Gallery. There were two quick visits to Borough Market where I sighed over the variety and beauty and quality of the food. And there was a little bit of shopping for the peeps back home.
I guess the best part of the trip was getting a break from the daily grind of taking care of two little people. Having the chance to catch up with people I haven’t seen in too long, and doing things I wouldn’t have been able to do had my adorable sidekicks made the journey with me.
With that, I’ve been summoned for ‘wiping’ duty.
guess who’s back
back again
mommy’s back
tell a friend
now everyone get on the dance floor
pajama time
Yes, we can all relax now. She decided to come back. I think the description of her cherub-like spawn from yours truly via this space did the final convincing to board that plane. Well that and the 8 inches of snow we are scheduled to get over they next two days. It’s 8:00 and all my peeps are in bed sleeping off there respective ailments. The boys and I engaged in some quick last minute cleanup, followed by a trip to a colleague’s house to watch some Champions League Football. Arsenal took the lead 1-0 as we left for the airport to pick up the true hottie. I will let N recount the tales as only she can but I got some awesome loot out of the deal. Now if only there was a small envelope filled with time for me to read all this while drinking coffee and eating chocolate. I love this woman.
Well my time as your host is drawing to a close. The wife should be returning soon from the land of crooked teeth, tweed and an appallingly low threshold for becoming a celebrity (“Hey is that the guy from the closed circuit tv feed in the Balham tube station?”). It will be the end of admittedly overly inside jokes, offensive comments and updates on the latest rules of the land (#6 was Lunch), but not the end of the endless fount of entertainment sprouting from the mouths of babes. So consider this the season finale when all the loose ends are tied up and the hero returns.
Over the last week I have witnessed wondrous things. G & H have taken mercy on their old man as if sensing his inadequate preparation for the job of sole parent. They have hugged one another, shared books and secret forts, yelled only occasionally and taken some decent naps along the way. But today the cracks are beginning to show, at breakfast the little guy was plowing through cinnamon rolls at an impressive clip, until I finally took mercy on his bowels and cut him off. A howling fit ensued and G helpfully intoned “that’s enough Colin!”. That’s right G has for reasons yet to be clear to me taken to calling his little brother “Colin” in times of distress or bossiness. I have asked him about this for the last several days and he simply replies “That’s his nickname”.
THAT’S HIS NICKNAME? “Why pray tell is that his nickname”, I ask, figuring that since we’re all adults here dispensing nicknames and whatnot there’s no need to simplify our conversation. “I don’t know”, comes the mostly unsatisfactory reply. “Why Colin, where did you hear Colin”, I ask. “I don’t know”, he inevitably replies and goes back to whatever he is doing. In this case he was trying to protect his cinamon rolls from his little brother Colin. So I figured that this new moniker was fair game. Yesterday I tried it on myself, figuring why not maybe the little guy will respond to direction when called Colin. “Colin, come here, let’s put your coat on”, I say. G looks at me as if I just walked in from the moon. “Who’s Colin”?, he asks. “His name isn’t Colin” he says, as if it is the most absurd thing ever uttered by mankind. In my head I flashed forward 10 years to the time when I, by then an old even less cool man, I will be trying to in some way work myself into my sons’ worlds by bringing up some hip band I can’t stand to listen too, or offering to go with them to wherever the heck it will be that kids hang out in 10 years (please don’t let it be some virtual pod that you access by placing a needle into your eyeball), and they will just look at me as if I am a man trying to follow a mermaid into the sea, shake their heads and say, whose THAT band, that was soo 10 minutes ago and plug needles into their eyes to get away from my retro coolness.
Perspective like that doesn’t come to you when you spend all day at work, come home tired and see two boys driving their mother insane. So I am in some ways really thankful for the chance I had this week to wrestle, built shanty towns and so 20 different things out of egg crates (thank you Calgary Public Library for putting THAT book right in G’s eyeline), removing screaming children from multiple locales (the grocery, the library, a meeting with my boss at work), having a paper ripping and throwing contest, falling on our butts at the hockey rink in the park, waking up at 2 am (I plan on going back to sleeping through these opportunities for bonding on the return of the queen), and seeing them run to the kitchen for our daily ice cream consumption. I am grateful and so ready for it to be over.
So some things seem completely unnecessary to me. Like Boss’ Day, the layers of packaging on kids toys or the show Two and a Half Men. But these things pale in comparison to the national holiday the boys and I awoke to this morning. CBC radio kindly informed us that it was 10 below and today was Hockey Day in Canada. This would be highlighted with hockey games all over the country matching retired hockey greats against members of the armed services, children with no teeth against children with fewer teeth and an entire town dressing up as Don Cherry. I found myself wondering what the heck every other day since the first flake hit the ground here has been. This is Canada where the junior hockey team leads the news broadcasts when it announces its lineups. Were the minor league teams can play in the same arenas as their NHL big brothers and still pack the place out. You can smell the stench of sweaty hockey gear every time a minivan/SUV door opens for crying out loud. Declaring a Hockey Day in Canada is like declaring a Fast Food Day in the US or a Fat Customer Day at Walmart. You had them at hello and there is no need to rub it in. OK well now that I have offended pretty much the whole of NAFTA, let me get to the only reason several of you are tuning in.
ARE THE CHILDREN STILL ALIVE? Yes I have gotten the urgent emails, ignored the caller ID, and tried not to be offended by the insinuation that we are probably just rolling around in piles of macaroni and cheese boxes. We are all fine thank you. Like any good Canadians we bundled up and headed down to the local pond to take in some aforementioned hockey and underwhelmed by local talent, we wandered over to the playground and proceeded to play for 20 minutes with the only patch of exposed earth and rocks the boys have seen in months. We wandered home, basking in the insanely bright and warm sunshine that seems to charactize even the coldest of days here in Calgary and stumbled upon the newly exposed sandbox in the front yard. Ice was removed from the “digger” and trucks and the boys spent another half hour bulldozing snow and pine cones around the yard. Finally their desperation for being outside gave way to the complaining of their cold fingers and we headed inside and trashed the house while I prepared the last of our provisions. Over tomato soup and grilled cheese we debated whether tomorrow would be a “school day, a church day with snacks, a big church day, or just a play day”. The answer was not well received since due to the lack of certain womanly qualities, I skipped the woman’s “coffee break” at the local church and G missed out on his Thursday snack.
So now that we have used up all the food prepared for us by the “beautiful one who travels abroad”, we will be the Three Stooges in a supermarket near you, my fellow Canadians. I only hope we can score some sweet deals in the after Hockey Day Sales.
Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring…. BANANAPHONE. after a while you don’t even hear it anymore. The CD you put on in a continuous loop in hopes of enticing the boys to fall asleep so you could sit in a chair and watch the locals go INSANE over the Messiah’s coming to Canada. There are seriously probably not enough paper bags in stock up here to prevent the collective, media/populace hyperventilation going on in the winter wonderland. But I digress, because I know what you really want to know Mrs. Robinson is how are the kids doing? How many of us survived Day Uno? How many of the rules did we break?
Let’s just say that while you have most likes already made a Maison du Chocolat run, and perhaps indulged in some quiet unencumbered cultural enrichment, we have been preparing for the future. With the current economic doldrums and the failure of a certain house (You know who you are 520 Alden) to sell we may have to develop some new survival skills in the future. And so we collectively made a visit to the basement and gathered supplies for this little vocational lesson.
Yes if need be don’t worry the three of us armed with duct tape and boxes can take care of you and build our new house under the nearest bridge. I am sure its reassuring in some way to know this. These are of course the famous “Secret Clubs” from the George and Martha Hippo books. This actually didn’t kill as much time as I had hoped so we had to improvise with some coloring and yes I admit it the nuclear option of parenting…. THE VIDEO…
It was at this moment that rules number 5 & 6 were added by G. Following a debate about weather rule number 3 had been broken in an exchange over property rights in our shanty town, G proposed rule #5 as a way to get past the impasse caused by pummeling his little Hermano.
Rule #5. Hugs
Yes its hard not to cry at moments like this, but you must resist. Not because you are a man of Nordic lineage but because it would only encourage this kind of clever escape from being in trouble. The next time you might enter a room to find coffee poured into your laptop and get a Rule #5 thrown in your face. So I bit my lip and congratulated the boy on a great new rule, so it was hugs all around. But nay, he was not finished…
“Rule #6 is Lunch” he informed me.
“Lunch”, I asked. “Yes and I want macaroni and cheese in a box with a bunny on it, not the OTHER kind (by which he means the delicious kind you slaved over for us the other night)”. Somehow I imagine this is how our laws end up being so complex. Someone says something like “let’s give kids free health care”, which is a bit like hugs, who can be against that, but then someone insists on adding things like lunch and naps and ice cream and soon we have people arguing about what kind of ice cream and the whole thing goes up in smoke, or we get a tax code with so many little pieces in it you just cross your fingers and mail it in.
So we took care of rules 5 and 6 followed by a rule 4 followed by a rule 1 and managed to do so while observing rules 2 and 3. We revisited our little project….
A trip to the library, some delicious chicken chili, baths and bedtime. All with only occasional lapses in adherence to rules 3 & 4. So it was a miraculously good day here and we hope you are having fun, living it up in the big city. Now that you know who has left the country I am sure the sour moods of the populace will return, so I am bracing myself for the coming storm.
Well folks the substitute teacher is now in the room so you get a reprieve from that homework you didn’t finish, so just put your head on your desks and lets all take a nap. That’s right our favorite blogger is off to jolly olde England and has appointed me to fill in. (A side note: actually as I write this our favorite blogger is sitting at the airport waiting for a replacement plane since the initial craft that was to be used is out of service at the moment. Details forthcoming I am sure)
I don’t of course assume that my appointment is related to anything approximating writing ability, but instead to a desire to see if I can survive a week of variously aged testosterone battles. The boys and I have hammered out the details of this arrangement and have decided upon 4 simple rules that will make this week of bach’n it a unbridled success. We have recited these rules in the car sitting in rush hour traffic for a good hour after dropping of the lovely ms. N and I can now shout out “Rule Number 2″ and G dutifully spouts the rule with such sincerity it almost seems plausible that he will A. remember the rule and B. obey it. Its like the Von Trapp family before the curtains become play clothes, or if you prefer the Pre-Mary Poppins clan with the banker father and his clock. In short there is no way it can last but until our singing heroine returns to bring back joy and laughter we have 4 simple rules.
#1. Naps- (All day, every day) OK we will settle for one nap of a decent length and I don’t mean for the kids. For some reason there are women among us who hate the idea of a full grown man napping in the middle of the day. Well those women are gone so when I say nap time I will be right there with them, not asking them to do anything I wouldn’t do.
#2. Be Kind- Uh I’m looking at you little man as you try and take big brother’s comic book and run away laughing maniacally only to then pummel said older brother when he tries to take it back. Its like watching Danny DeVito try and beat up Shawn Bradley (sorry if you aren’t knowledgeable on 90’s era 7 foot white centers in the NBA you may have to google this one.)
#3. NO YELLING!- Its going to be like a library in here. SHHHHHHH. Actually I am just hoping I’m not the first one to break this rule.
And finally since rules shouldn’t just be about what you have to do or not do but about what you might want to do, I give you the rule that trumps all the other rules and I imagine will be key to us surviving the week.
#4 Ice Cream- In this case it is both verb and noun and comes in a strawberry flavor.
When I got home from book club, not quite three weeks ago, there was a card sitting on my pillow. From the other jason johnson.
Mr. Johnson is quite a card maker when he has the time and inclination, and this was certainly one of his finer ones. As I started reading the words on the page, arranged in his signature style – meaning you have to read it twice in order to understand it – I was surprised. Very surprised.
Apparently, my darling husband had hacked into my email account and stolen the email address of a friend from London. The same friend who was getting married in late-February; who had sent us an invitation to attend her wedding. In London. An invitation I declined as graciously as possible because our pesky house in Indiana still hasn’t sold, and it would be rather difficult to leave town for an extended period of time.
But Mr. Johnson, for better and for worse, doesn’t view situations the way I do. Instead of turning down an invitation to a wedding for financial reasons, or scheduling difficulties, or because it’s crazy; he solicits donations from my closest family members and spends hours on the internet looking for an affordable flight. And buys the plane ticket, before I can tell him that it is a very bad idea, and doesn’t make any amount of sense.
So this week, thanks to my very sneaky, and equally bullheaded husband, I will be flying on a plane to London. Alone. To see a dear friend get married, and visit friends and places I haven’t seen in nearly five years.
Honestly, if I had the opportunity to go to a wedding in Iowa, by myself, I might be just as excited. But, even better that it’s London.
In order to soften the blow of my departure, I bought an enormous container of Golden Grahams. So at least breakfasts will be fun while I’m gone. I tried to talk to Mr. G about my upcoming absence the other day: ‘did you remember that I’m going to go to London next week?’ I asked. ‘Is that when we get to eat the fun cereal,’ he replied. Make no mistake, he’s been eyeing that box every morning for the past week. I also left a tub full of chili in the freezer, and five boxes of Annie’s Mac & Cheese in the pantry. That should sustain them, at least for a couple of days.
I’ve also suggested Jason buy an enormous container of moonsand and set up the sandbox in the kitchen, so the boys can just play in there all day long. He could even allow them to play in diaper and underwear only – minimizing dirty laundry at the same time. A kitchen filled with moonsand, and baths lasting from 6-8pm, should fill up at least half of the day. Easily.
I told Jason if he wanted to sleep in a bit, he could set out bowls of dry cereal the night before and put a teapot of milk in the fridge. G should be able to retrieve the teapot and pour milk over the cereal. The kid is practically five, after all. The Hen can’t yet climb into his booster seat without some assistance, but maybe it’s time he just started sitting in a regular seat. He’s almost eighteen months old. Harvard is looking for exemplary students, not run of the mill ones.
I can only imagine the excellent blog posts Professor Hotness will write as he takes over the blog in my absence. I expect our reunion will go something like this: he’ll drop me and the kids off at the house, and I’ll just hear tires squealing as he drives off.
But that’s okay. Because I’m going to London. By myself. For five days.
It has been a long weekend of contrived observances.
G didn’t have preschool yesterday. I didn’t even bother asking why – I just mentally prepared for a longer day than normal. But Jason got the scoop, from who knows where. ‘Did you know it’s Family Day on Monday,’ he informed me. ‘That’s why schools (etc.) are closed.’
Weird. The U.S. calls this particular Monday in February, President’s Day…but in Canada it’s Family Day. Personally, I think Family Day should only be for people with 8-5 jobs who may not have the ‘opportunity’ to see their kids as much as, say, those with more flexible schedules. In our house, every day is family day. (In fact, Jason and I fully expect the boys will one day berate us for ‘being around too much’.)
So it saddens me that we had to miss out on two hours of preschool, because the Canadian Government thinks we need to spend more time with our kids. But, since there was mandated family fun to be had, we complied.
We started off the morning by watching a movie – Chicken Little; G’s new favorite movie of all time – and sipping hot chocolate and enjoying Anna’s Ginger Thins, which, for a store-bought cookie is quite excellent. The fact that IKEA sells them for $1 a box makes them taste even better.
If I omit the part about how I used the aforementioned movie, hot chocolate and cookies as bribery in order to cut the boys’ hair, it sounds like a very pleasant morning.
Except it wasn’t. Because my boys hate it when I cut their hair. G was so distraught that I had to augment the bribery, and let him watch a bit of a Dora DVD after Chicken Little.
Fortunately it’s ‘Family Day’ not ‘Education Day’.
After lunch and a nap for the Hen, we headed out for a ‘Family Walk.’
There are some micro climates in operation here in Calgary. I can step outside of my front door, think it’s a certain temperature, and dress accordingly. But when I arrive at the trail by the river it is about ten degrees colder. And really windy.
Which means wintry family walks are not terribly enjoyable, because certain little people sit in their strollers and make comments like: ‘my cheeks are freezing’ and ‘can we go back – I want to be done.’ [Call me dramatic, but age almost-five 'sounds' a lot like what I imagined age thirteen would sound like.]
Of course, the same certain little people will leap out of the confines of their stroller when they see a playground. Fully capable of setting aside ‘freezing cheeks’ for some time on the swing.
After almost an hour into the experience, we proceeded to walk back to the car. I stopped here and there to try and document the icy surroundings.
But Jason got a tad grumpy with me because he thought my stopping briefly to take 3 pictures sent the Hen into a state of recalcitrance, aka complete unwillingness to sit in his stroller. Bucking and fussing like those wild horses you see in movies. So we ended up carrying him much of the way back – because people give you nasty looks when your kid is sitting in a stroller screaming, with legs and arms flailing.
Before getting in the car we stopped at the coffee shop for a snack. Because promising a snack after a walk (on a cold day) is the only way we can get the grumpelstiltskins to come along. And sure enough, a little bit of cookie or some yogurt parfait erases all the torturous memories, and keeps them going back for more.
