I could be wrong, but I am going to propose a theory that 7-year-olds are masters of hyperbole. Either that, or my kid’s life really and truly sucks.
Yesterday started off quite nicely. I packed them all off to school. They had mini chocolate doughnuts in their breakfast bags, so how could things go wrong? Or so I thought.
And school was ok. No homework. So-so lunches. But it was after school that really rocked their little worlds. Because Daddy-Who-Walks-On-Water had told them all about FREE FAMILY FUN NIGHT AT PARADISE PARK!! Could life actually ever get any better?
(P.S. Mommy wanted to kill Daddy.)
Paradise Park is actually a nice, fun family park place with mini-golf and bumper cars and climbing walls and all sorts of fun mayhem for kids and parents alike…all conveniently located for your recreational pleasure. And it would have been great—if EVERY. SINGLE. KID. IN. THE. DISTRICT. hadn’t decided to go on that particular night.
And of course they were all there because it was free night. I would rather pay. I would have paid thrice the price for half the people. It would have been worth it.
But, nay. Daddy-the-Magnificent had mentioned the event, and so we had to go. And so we went.
And it was sticky. And hot. And very, very loud. (Dear parents of screamers, do you not notice your child screaming like a banshee? If you are, indeed, oblivious to this, it is possible you are taking entirely too much medication.)
But it was fun. Because my kids had fun. We played mini-golf, and the boys only nearly-decapitated me twice, so I felt fairly safe. Marissa’s glasses were nearly smashed by a wayward swing of Jordan’s club, but after that, she stood a little farther back, so it was all good. There was laughter and sweat and stickiness.
(What IS that sticky stuff that gets all over my kids’ hands? Where does it come from? Is it like sweat? Does it actually come from the pores of small children? Do they secrete sugar? Or Skittle juice?)
And then we went upstairs to the hot dog room. Where they promptly informed us they had run out of hot dogs. How the hell do you run out of hot dogs at the hot dog/free night/play event? We were even PAYING for the hot dogs, so someone was losing out on some hot dog profit. Dammit. I thought dinner was covered, but as it turned out, I was going to have to stop on the way home.
So we left—after cashing in our 450 tickets. (As it turned out, I paid $25 for game tokens, wherein the kids earned 450 tickets, with which they purchased 2 cans of Sierra Mist, a handful of Skittles and Tootsie Rolls and a pair of plastic sunglasses. So essentially, I got mugged by the Dollar Store at this event.)
And after we left, Jordan got to pick McDonald’s for dinner. And that’s when Jadon informed me, “THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE!!”
He wanted Taco Bell. But he picked Taco Bell last time, so it was Jordan’s turn.
“I guess I’ll just starve to death.”
So I agreed. “Yep, you should probably do that.” Because I’m mean.
But by the time we got to McDonald’s, he decided that he would rather have a Happy Meal than starve to death, so he went for the pain and suffering of the boxed meal of happiness.
And we all lived happily ever after. And then we went home and washed the stickiness and trauma of the event off. Next time it’s free night, I’m sending Super-Daddy.