fondue vs. futon

When you have children, and no budget for babysitters, it becomes necessary to develop a method for maintaining the sanity of the parents. We have some routines in place that announce the arrival of the weekend,  and Mom and Dad mentally checking out. First, we chain them to a trough in the basement…

No no no no, not really.

Here’s what we do. Normally, a Friday looks like this.

We order a take and bake pizza from our favorite pizza joint.

(I love their website…it’s so Durango)

While they are making it, we buy our favorite beer.

and our favorite ice cream and rent the kids a movie.

We then pick up Della from Tumble and Tramp, and head home.

If I am really on it, I make a big salad, but maybe not.

Here is my favorite salad dressing recipe du jour. It changes often. Max loves this one.

Dijon Champagne Vinaigrette

{in a jar}

3 T champagne vinegar

1/2 t dijon * 1/2 t garlic * 1 egg yolk * 3/4 t salt * 1/4 t pepper

and 1/2 cup of oil. 

shake shake shake

so easy, so fast, so good. thank you, ina!

 

We eat together, Matt and I drink a beer, we listen to music and talk, and the kids intuitively know that we are not in parenting mode. They appreciate this. We are there, but not ninny-ing. No doors are shut, there is just a mutual understanding of autonomy.  The kids ride bikes, roam the hood, and eventually watch their movie. At bedtime, we snuggle them in and it’s been a nice evening all around.

Not anything special, but life at the Patton house. 

Tonight, however, I’m changing it up.

Because my kids have issues.

They have been struggling significantly and far too long in a linguistic quagmire.

They can not, for the life of them, make the distinction between fondue and futon.

These two words aren’t even similar to my mind, but Lewis keeps saying that he’s going to sleep on the fondue and Della wants to try some futon. 

I try to help them.

“You want to sleep in a pot of hot cheese? You’ll have to shower in the morning, you know.”

Blank stare. 

“Mom, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, Honey, are you going for a Guinness world record or something, because people just don’t sleep in those pots. Not normal people. How will you even fit? Can you spell sterno? It’s ridiculous, really.”

I have no idea what he thinks of me. She’s a fool, she’s sort of funny, could I trade her for a normal mom……..

Della eyes my darling thrift store fondue pot and the jazzy daggers that came with it.

“Can we have futons tonight?”

You see the problem, right.

And they’re just kids, and this is really what keeps my job interesting, so tonight we are having fondue on a futon. 

My hope is that they will ‘get it’ for forever.

(or be eternally confused.)

We are also going to have a horse shoe tournament.

This is my time to tell the world that I whipped Matt’s ass in horse shoes the other night. Read that twice, friend. Whipped it. 

If you are, right now, thinking that our entire little valley was reverberating with my intense screaming and celebrating, then you are so damn intuitive.

May your weekend be lovely and a little off-beat.