Story Land - Where My Fantasy Died

Here’s what I’d like to see happen when I tell the boys we’re going to Story Land:  They eat their breakfast without yelling at each other, brush their teeth, get dressed, and get in the car.  For the 10 minute car ride, they say things like, “I’m so excited to go to Story Land!” and “What a great idea, thanks mom!”  We park, skip through the tunnel, they wait for everyone to catch up.  The ticket line goes smoothly and in we go.  Once inside the park, they take turns at picking out the next ride and wait patiently getting on and off.  The lunch I packed is delicious and they take time to use the bathrooms before we continue.  You get the picture.

Here’s what really happened:  Secondo threw his cereal spoon at Primo while eating breakfast and Primo screamed at him for the rest of the morning.  Neither brushed their teeth even though they both said they did.  As usual, Secondo wouldn’t get dressed and sat in the play room going through all the toys in the drawers.  “I don’t want to go to Story Land,” he claimed.  Primo begged him to get ready but it didn’t work.  I finally got him dressed and we headed for the car.  Both boys were wearing their crocs so I ran in to get better shoes and had them change.  I backed out of the driveway and realized I left the lunch on the counter.  And the water bottles.

We make it out of the driveway at last at which point Primo starts yelling at Secondo again and winds up to hit him.  I remind them that a trip to Story Land is a privilege and not a right and they need to behave if they want to get there.  That settles them down for a little bit.  About halfway there they started arguing over which ride they wanted to go on first.  Again, I reminded them that we’ll hit all the good ones and they shouldn’t worry.  Also that it’s not a contest, that it’s about having fun, gosh darn it. 

Once the car stopped in the parking lot, they both swung open their doors and ran toward the tunnel.  I had to yell at them to wait a minute while I got out.  We made it through the tunnel and the ticket office without injury.  They both had to have their own maps, which moments later I had to carry.

Both boys played in the little kids’ section for a while but Primo got bored and wanted to leave.  It took another 15 minutes to lure Secondo out but when we thought we were good to go to the next ride, I couldn’t find him.  So Primo and I went back and searched for him.  He was hiding in the mushroom house.  Fortunately.  After a brief scolding and review of the rules we continued.

We hit a few more rides without incident and found a table to sit at for lunch.  The sandwiches were a little squished and we all said “Yuk” but then Secondo wouldn’t eat his.  I broke down and offered to get him a hot dog.  Naturally Primo wanted one too.  I sort of wanted one too.  We all had hot dogs instead.  When we finished they started on begging for a soda.  I was very firm and explained that I only had so much money and if they wanted ice cream on the way out they couldn’t get a soda.  Try getting a 4 year old to understand the logic of patience.  He screamed for 10 minutes and I was getting a headache so I broke down and got them sodas.

The rest of the afternoon was predictable.  We had fun as always on the Bamboo Chutes and bought the picture for our annual collection.  We survived the line for Dr. Geyser’s Remarkable Raft Ride and got soaked without too much of an issue.  But the long line for the Antique Cars almost did us in.  Primo was all wound up and kept climbing on the rail divider and Secondo lost it and whined the whole time.  I even encouraged them to watch the televisions.  Sometimes the lines seem to last forever.

We skipped past getting another “Driver’s License” and were in the home stretch.  But no, not even close.  They both wanted ice scream.  I did too admittedly.  I explained that we couldn’t get ice cream because we used our budgeted cash on the sodas at lunch.  When it became clear that there was no getting Secondo out of the park without an ice cream, I then had to explain that we needed to find an ATM Machine to get cash to pay for it.  He didn’t understand.  Or maybe he didn’t really care.  He just wanted the ice cream, NOW. 

As Primo and I sat waiting for Secondo to calm down so we could find the ATM, I reflected on what I could have done better to make the day go smoother.  It would have been helpful to have another adult with me.  It would have been better to leave on boy at home and have the other bring a friend and make two separate visits.  I should have carried enough cash on me to cover all the potential expenses and not just the necessary ones.  I should not have had a second child.  I should stop reading so many parenting articles and hire an in-house professional.  I should show more patience and understanding and be a better parent.  This is all his father’s fault.  This is all my fault.   No, it’s my parents fault.  I’m never bringing them anywhere again.  Did I bring any tissues, I’m going cry. 

Finally Secondo started talking and we walked over to get more cash.  We sat quietly on  the bench and ate our ice cream.  When we were done, we left the park, the boys ran through the tunnel, yelled for me to unlock the car, and we drove home. 

I passed the boys off to their father who was now home from work and took myself on a bike ride to clear my head.  Such Zen opportunities in my life!  How did I get to be so deserving?  What I really mean is, how do other parents do it???

Domestic Dogma

How is it that when my husband and I were first married the household chores were 50/50 and now they’re more like 90/10 in his favor.  Who am I kidding, I know exactly what happened.  In the beginning, he was a different person.  He folded his own laundry, sometimes we’d even fold together.  We each had dinner duty 3 nights a week and one night we’d go out or order take out.  I vacuumed, he mowed.  I took the trash out, he brought it to the curb.  I was inside, he was outside.  We had separate bank accounts and a joint one for the household bills which was pretty much on auto pay.  Domestic bliss.  Of course back then, we were both earning more than we do now and we didn’t have any children to take care of.  We also had the same work hours, same pay, same goals.  A lot has changed in 10 years.  So much for my feminist beliefs.

Now I’m a work at home mom (WAHM) and my husband puts in about 50 hours a week.  Which he does by choice and truly likes his work.  He leaves before the rest of us are up so I have morning duty with the kids most days of the week.  I’ve been at home for almost a year now but it’s just recently that he’s accepted I actually do work.  Must have something to do with money finally coming in.  I do all the cooking, dishes, laundry, cleaning, and grocery shopping.  I also go to the transfer station, shop for the household items, and take care of the bills.  In his defense, he’s the handiest person I’ve ever known and if something breaks he’s on it and he’s very good.  And he did finally clean out the basement this spring.  He makes an excellent apple pie and he’s in charge of the BBQ.  He’s tried to go grocery shopping but he doesn’t stick to the list.  And he’s banned from laundry.

In truth, I’m fine with the arrangement.  Household chores are a great distraction when you’re working at home.  I’ve always been a multitasker so it’s nothing to do the laundry, get the kids out the door, and write a blog.   If I didn’t have to make dinner I’d keep on writing.  And I like listening to music when I clean up after.  Grocery shopping gets old, but my limited budget forces me to be creative.  And I don’t have enough money to shop for anything else so that’s one less task to bother with.  I’m not a huge fan of making the trip to the transfer station but I only go about once a month and we compost so there’s not a lot of smelly trash hanging around.  In an odd way, I feel that I’ve achieved a level of success to be able to stay at home and in fact be the domestic engineer I’d only heard about.  On the other hand, I’ve turned into the stereotype I fought so hard against in my early adult years.

What concerns me now is the lesson I’m teaching my boys.  By seeing me in all my domestic joy will they assume the same roles my husband and I did?  When they were born, I worked hard not to let them fall into the gender trap of boys playing with trucks and guns and being so physical.  I soon learned that it truly is genetic and not socialized.  Why don’t they just teach that in school and put an end to all the questioning?  Now, I know that boys and men can be domesticated.  But people also learn by example.  What if they one day secretly harbor the idea that housework is “women’s work.”  I have this horrible image of sitting at the dinner table with my family and my father saying, “Nancy, I need a fork.”  To which my mom would get up and get him one.  God forbid my husband talk to me like that.  At least we don’t have that degree of sexism going on.

I suppose as long as my husband and I are okay with our household work division then that’s all that matters.  As for the boys, I’ve got them on a chore chart for good citizenship and am training them in all facets of domestic life.  I’ve started daydreaming about the day when they’ll vacuum and do their own laundry.  And make dinner.  What a bonus!  Even as I write this my oldest is mowing the lawn with the push mower.  It’s quite the zigzag design.