So, Andrew and I are on our own this weekend.
Ian and Mikey are spending the next four days at Joshua Tree.
Mikey calls it “an annual bonding trip for boys and their dads.”
I call it Kidnapping.
Though, as far as going against your will goes, Ian was less “help me mommy, please save me from the clutches of my unstable and selfish father” and way more “Daddyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Let’s gooooooooooooo! Yippeeeeeeeeeeeee. Let’s get the heck out of here nowwwwwwwwwww!” It just goes to show that kids are stupid.
I gave my husband a comprehensive list of what Ian might need during his stay at the “Rock Climbing National Park of Doom and Death Where Children Plummet to the Unforgiving Earth Below Them While Their Moronic Fathers Drink Beer and Speak Using Only One Syllable Words.”
It went something like this:
I hope it’s not too confusing for him.
I tried to talk Ian out of going at the last minute:
“You look like you don’t feel good honey…”
“Oh mom, I feel great!”
“I’m not convinced sweetheart, let’s take your temperature.”
“Okay…but I’m fine..I swear!”
“That’s it! You’re grounded!”
“That’s right…um, you’re grounded for…four days! ..That’ll teach you to swear in this house young man.”
That’s when my crazy lunatic husband swooped in, grabbed my helpless little boy, gave me a quick kiss goodbye, then darted up the stairs and out the front door before I could charge my taser gun.
Now it’s been three hours since they left and he’s already behind on his daily requirement of 450 communication transactions (just phone calls and text messages apply) . The only explanation I can think of is that they arrived at the campground only to be assaulted by a pack of wild desert boulder rock creatures with beady pebble eyes who were looking for the last ingredients in their father-son stew and came upon my precious offspring and his dumbass dad*.
I’m they’re gonna be okay.
*I knew he’d do something to make me regret changing my last name.
Dammit. I shouldn’t have rushed into things.