Yesterday, Mr. Smith decided that it would be an awesome idea to measure Grand Master H’s current height. This, in theory, would not lead to trouble.
If you believe that, you have never been subjected to Grand Master H’s brand of Gettin’ Smithy. Let’s just say, it ain’t pretty, it is Smithy.
When he queried the reason for the measurement, Mr. Smith did not recall that H understands almost everything.
For example, he understood that the mere mention of the Indiana Jones Ride meant a trip to the most miserable place on earth. You know, the House of the Money Grubbing Rat.
My hatred of that place is well-documented. I am very very very sorry if you like the place, the junk, the rides, the crowds, etc. I don’t. I just don’t. I never will.
So after that, the negotiations began.
Mr. Smith is still leaning to the right (literally, not politically). He is still icing his back many times each day. Even with that, he was willing to bite the proverbial bullet and go to the most miserable place on earth for his precious children.
I am not nearly as generous a parent.
When he suggested this idea, I offered to stand in the street and let him hit me with my own car.
That is how much I did not want to go.
Since the mercury was predicted to hit triple digits, we were able to agree (after negotiations that would make a Teamster’s head SWIM!) to go swimming instead.
So to the pool we went.
Luckily, they had cleaned up the “fecal matter incident” (their description, not mine) and the pool was available for use in our snooty gated community. Yeah, they are too good to swim with the unwashed masses, but it is totally cool to pinch a loaf in the pool. I don’t get it, but those are the rules apparently.
Anyway, when we arrived, it was pretty much deserted. There were two boys, I would estimate they were a bit older than H and seemed to be alone. Upon closer examination, they were not alone, but they were being attended to by two “nannies.”. These two women were on the other side of the complex, lounging, napping and checking their cell phones. Meanwhile, the two boys were sprinting around, diving onto the pool steps, etc.
They almost immediately latched on to Mr. Smith.
Mr. Smith who was the only adult male in the entire place. Mr. Smith who was busy playing with his own children.
As I watched this, it made me sad for both of these children.
Here are my children, on a Thursday morning, hanging out at the pool for an hour or so with both of their parents.
Where were their parents? Most likely at work. Both of them. From early in the morning until late afternoon.
So, yes Mr. Smith and I have been sued into near oblivion. We are living with my parents because we can’t exactly afford to live on our own.
But, and this is a very big but, my children have their father around. We may be broke, very very broke, but we have children that don’t feel the need to glom onto someone else’s father when they spot him at the pool or the park.
All I need to see is the expression on their faces, Mr. Smith and H, when they frolicking around together to know that we are doing the right thing. We have made hard choices, but our children are not being sacrificed.
No we don’t have the latest cars, clothes, shoes, etc. We don’t have the money to go on expensive vacations. We have each other. To me, that is worth more than all the rest of those material things.
It made me very sad for those little boys.
What kind of parents will they be, I wonder?