Tonight, my wife's family is coming over to our house to celebrate our son's third birthday. It's a little late, but he was really sick for about a week and a half, so we had to postpone it. And postpone it. And postpone it. I don't like hosting parties at my house, especially for my wife's family. I always feel a little judged when they come to my house. I know it's just me, but I just don't ever think it's clean enough or neat enough or big enough. Nobody ever says, "Oh, my God, I'm not eating that cake. I've been in your kitchen." (Again, my house is not that bad, but most of the people who are coming tonight have houses that belong in Better Homes and Gardens.) It just causes me stress.
And even though I've just been complaining about finances, we are taking a family trip to the Wisconsin Dells on Friday. Not by choice. My daughter has a dance convention there this weekend. We couldn't afford it last year, so I promised my daughter that we would go this year. This year, we really can't afford it, either. However, a promise is a promise. So, Kalahari Resort here we come. I'm not looking forward to driving down. I'm not looking forward to entertaining my three-year-old son for three days in a strange place. I'm not looking forward to driving back. But my daughter is so excited she can barely sleep. Ah, the things we do for our kids. I'm just going to have to skip breakfast and lunch for the next year to afford this little jaunt.
Finally, my wife is bringing my car in for an oil change and check-up this morning. I always dread these appointments. It's not so much the inconvenience of not having my own automobile for a day. It's the waiting to find out what catastrophic mechanical problem the mechanics will discover. That's what I dread.
Saint Marty is a little on edge this morning. He needs a vacation to some tropical place that costs absolutely nothing. Free tickets. Free hotel. Free food.
Looks expensive to me |
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