I feel bad that we’re leaving the kids for four days. No, not for a romantic getaway. To delightful Anaheim. We have a trade show and lots of very, very important meetings with very, very important people. Not as important as our kids though. And for a few minutes there I toyed with the idea of bringing them all with and letting the nanny take them to Disneyland. But then while we’re in our very, very important meetings, and some other unimportant ones that involve people trying to sell me things, I’ll be thinking about the kids, and worrying the they’re on a roller coaster that goes too fast or a ride that goes through a dark tunnel and they didn’t know it was going to go through a dark tunnel and how will one nanny hold hands with three scared kids and what if someone throws up, and no thanks I don’t really want to buy a subscription to your beverage trade publication.
Soooooo. We’re not taking the kids. And my dad, who I don’t think ever changed a diaper in his life (not that my kids are in diapers, don’t be so literal, ok?), has literally become a one man taxi service, and is in charge of schlepping them all to and from school and to trumpet and theatre and guitar and swimming, and keeps saying, “now what am I supposed to do at the guitar lesson?” which actually takes place at our house, so he doesn’t have to do anything. Unless he can teach guitar. But he does have to remember to get that kid from Hebrew school and back home in time for said guitar lesson. It’s been more exhausting organizing and fretting that building the actual bloody trade show booth. Which of course we built in-house. And it had astro turf. Which is pretty freaking awesome really. And it’s also pretty freaking awesome that I managed to find a photo of my dad standing in my truck that has astro turf on the walls. Are you starting to see a theme here?
Thank god I’m taking singing lessons on Mondays. Such a great distraction from my real life as a crazy person.