Happy Father’s Day- from the eye of the shit storm

Would you just look at how beautifully father’s day at our house started out?  Seriously.  Golf, puppy, coffee music.  All four of us partaking of some of our favorite pastimes. How much bliss can a human body endure?

Alas, neither a round of golf, nor a stationary puppy, nor a sleeping tween, nor a favorite new album can last forever.  Once golf was completed, we piled into the car to head to brunch.  When I say ‘piled into the car,’ what I really mean is three of us piled into the car and waited for the fourth to grace us with her presence.  She couldn’t find her shoes. When I say ‘she couldn’t find her shoes’ what I really mean is she couldn’t find a suitable option out of her three pairs of shoes.  The old shoddy pair she normally knocks around in were left at Ruby’s.  Her converses were soaking wet from being worn to the local theme park yesterday.  And, her brand new pair of shoes that we bought her for cross country?  MIA, of course.  Eventually, though, she made it to the car with her soccer flats and a pair of my socks she had grabbed on her way out.

I could really bog you down with details of this ordeal right now (funny how I say that as if I haven’t already), but I’ll just tell you we finally made it out of the driveway, got about a half mile down the road, and proceeded to all be yelling at one another due to some tween girl antics.  We turned around and came home.  Filled with remorse, daughter begged us to get back into the car and go eat.  Being father’s day, I gave dad the choice.  As I type this, we’re waiting on burgers to be delivered.  While I was sitting at the computer trying to order said burgers, Buddy the foster pup escaped my watch and went over to take a piss over our air conditioning vent.  Bloody fabulous.  But, here we are: Dad’s watching TV, son’s watching a show on his phone, daughter is in my bed stewing in guilt, foster pup has an empty bladder, and I’m blogging.

This is pretty much life as we know it right now.  Nothing goes according to plan.  Kids are more often than not hormonal and stinky and crabby.  Life is messy and I am entirely too prone to stooping to their level when dealing with my adolescent kids.  Patience is a virtue.  Sadly it’s not one I’ve been blessed with.  I can describe this moment as the ‘eye of the shit storm’ only because we’ve all taken our hangry selves to our separate corners.  Simply put, we are messy.  Imperfect on a bazillion different levels.  And if push were to come to shove, I wouldn’t change any of it.

Of course I’ll still bitch endlessly, though.