This just sucks ass
Cabin crew prepare for landing. The end of my 6-month stay at home mom-flight is in sight, destination: work. I am slowly descending to the 9 to 5 - level, causing my ears heart to hurt. The flight attendants collect the empty styrofoam cups used to hold two servings of nauseating tea and watery coffee. The screen shows how many miles days I have left before landing and a little information on my destination.
I know, soon I will...
Write press releases, in stead of...
doing crafts with Monkey.
Give communication and PR-advise, in stead of
doing tummy time with Roo.
Attend press meetings, in stead of...
watching my children bond.
Attend office meetings, in stead of...
playing giggles with Roo.
Drink horrible office coffee, in stead of
checking new rides with Monkey.
Travel by too crowded public transport twice a day, in stead of...
letting Monkey drive me with his favorite playground fire truck.
Eat lunch with my colleagues, in stead of...
harvesting lunch with monkey.
And so on.. and so on...
I will only work 3 days a week. I know I'm living the good life. There are many women out there who have to work 5 days a week to provide a good life for their kids. Some work 7 days a week to provide a roof and food. And than there are mothers who don't have jobs at all but are poor and don't even sleep under the same roof every day.
But I just don't care about anyone else at this point. ONE months left until I've landed back in the work arena. And it sucks ass.
So for now, I'll just ignore the fasten seatbelt sign. I will not put my seat in the upright position. In stead, I put back the earplugs to watch another movie, I'll order a Chardonnay and tax free giant Toblerone and enjoy this last part of the flight in every way I can.
How I will be remembered in 2384
Three Star Trek-ish men in white lab coats are watching while a DNA - enhanced robot digs a hole in what used to be my garden.
They cheer when the robot finally stumbles upon my time capsule.
The robot climbs out of the 16 feet hole I dug on a cool summer evening, and gives the capsule to one of the men. The man now holding the capsule, handles it as if it were an ancient dinosaur bone. He sits on the side of the hole, letting his legs dangle freely. While the other men command their paper thin Mac books to fly from their suitcases and land in their laps, the man opens the time capsule.
With carefulness I've only seen when handling my deceased grandma's china, they go through my stuff. Jotting down value, purpose, dates and several characteristics of the 21st century.
Though pleased with themselves they found this capsule, in horror they take out two black things with holes in them. They exchange looks, nod and one of the men with the levitating Mac books, says "Not thou, Nadine" as he writes in his Excel 2400 document: "2008: the year fashion sense died."
The men wrap their investigation up. Thrilled about finding their treasure and disappointed about their ancestor's choice in fashion. Knowing better than to try if the Godiva Key Lime Chocolate Truffles are still eatable, one of the men puts one in his mouth anyway. Choking on the deceased chocolate and with disgust, he tosses Monkey's new black Crocs back in the hole.
They laugh and then they set up camp, using my nursing bras as a multi-person tent.
Monkey in his new black Crocs digging a hole for our time capsule in 85 F plus heat. OK, that's a lie. That is not our garden (I wish, our garden is stamp-size). This is actually a local playground.
Hey, that's MY fear
We went to a petting farm yesterday. Many goats, cows, pigs, bunnies and ponies. Monkey insisted on riding on a horse. So his grandmother got a ticket and he went to wait in line. When it was his turn, a pony (or a horse? really, this city girl can not tell the difference) arrived, but it was a slightly bigger pony as the others we had seen. The young girl walking with the bigger pony sees our little toddler and smiles: "Awww,
you probably want to wait a minute for a small pony to arrive".
"Yes" we all agree. It makes sense. Small kid. Small pony.
Than it occurs to me. We're deciding this based on OUR fears.
So I change my mind: "If he's OK with it, we can let him try to sit on the big one. It's not THAT big."
And he loved it. A LOT!
We were totally assuming he would have the small/ big horse fear we all seemed to have (at least two of us have this irrational fear of big horses.)
More pictures of our sun drenched weekend:
At the playground
A picnic!
Roo, ready to hit her daddy with her tiny fist
Roo, eating her toy Tiger. She's a violent little baby, isn't she.
Monkey, on his new ride! It was a babe magnet. (I KNOW his hair needs a cut. He's going to the hairdresser tomorrow.)
My handsome hubby
A car cow wash!
