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Puncherson_64LadyBrain_64

No spoilers. Some good decorating tips, though!

Butch:

I got nothing. No games. No soul. Nothing.

Had a kid concert last night– was good. Very peppy. Brothers didn’t ruin it, so there’s that.

They also got home late and didn’t go to bed, then did the “But he got to stay up later, so I get to stay up later, too!” thing that they do….

I had dinner at 940. That is not a typo. 940.

I’ll install it today. Really. Really I will.

For I must to stay sane.

Feminina:

I also got nothing.

Well, maybe a little soul, as I did not have to wrangle children at a concert last night, so there’s that. But no game. By the time everyone was in bed and the dishwasher loaded and the lunches made, it was almost 9:00. Or, in your world, about an hour before dinnertime.

Good lord, man, that’s nightmarish. That’s the time where you think “is it even worth it to eat dinner or shall I just fall facedown onto the bed and wait for a new day?”

I would probably have just crammed some toast into everyone’s mouths and collapsed. I salute you if you achieved anything more.

We’ll play today. Definitely. I mean, that’s not a plan, but it’s something we’ll get around to maybe.

Butch:

Oh, dude, the KIDS had eaten. We eat when the kids are put away. Usually, that’s at some acceptable time (though, with Junior all getting older, that seems to be less acceptable every day). You know. Like nine. But the kids weren’t away until 940.

And BOY are they charming today.

I know you’re “supposed” eat with your kids, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’d NEVER talk to Mrs. McP if we did that. Dinner is us time, and, trust me, that’s the ONLY us time that isn’t interrupted every three words. Shit, if I want to have a conversation with her when the sun is up, I have to leave the state.

But, if you’re not gonna eat with the kids, you’re gonna eat late.

Very late.

Feminina:

Oh, I’m sure they’re just OVERFLOWING with charm and good humor.

Dude, feeding the children first and then having grown-up dinner is classic. Gives the grown-ups some time to talk. And lets the kids eat earlier so they don’t have to wait until the working parent is home, if that’s later on.

In my case, we all get home at pretty much the same time, so it doesn’t offer us any particular benefits, but I can see how it could totally work in other circumstances. Like, for instance, your circumstances. You do your thing that works, man.

Tell the kids they can eat with you when they can participate in adult conversation. You know, like when they’re home on break from college.

Butch:

Oh, they can’t eat with us then, either. Might steal my booze. No way, man. No way.

But it’s a good set up. I get Mrs. McP time, I get to eat more adult food, that sort of thing. The drawback is, your way, you’re done with everything at a reasonable enough hour that you can play games. I’m done with, like, food at 945, 10. I’ve also likely had booze. Not conducive to game time.

Trade offs.

Feminina:

Trade offs indeed. Because yeah, I do (sometimes) have a nice post-kid-bedtime period where I can play games, instead of eating my own dinner.

On the other hand, you have a civilized adult meal on a regular basis.

So, as you say. Trade offs.

Butch:

Trade offs.

Except these days, I’m not getting my end of the bargain. I miss game time, then I sit around waiting for Junior to shut up and go to bed, at which point Mrs. McP is too tired to do much of anything and just wants to chill playing iPad games, so I get neither.

Twelve is not a great age. Though he is getting somewhat more independent. That’s something.

Feminina:

I imagine 12 is awkward. Not falling asleep, but not having any conversational topics that engage a tired grown-up at the end of the day… Though independence is good.

Trade offs again, I suppose.

Butch:

Yup. And still a need to be with mommy a lot. It’s weird.

I wouldn’t mind so much if they went someplace other than the damn sofa so I could play games or something.

Sigh.

I should go install AC:O, just to say I did.

Feminina:

Yeah, do that. Then we’ll be at the same place in the game! Installed!

Not leaving you alone to play games is really the issue. I mean, if he wants to stay up and read a book? Write a novel? Design robots? Whatever! Knock yourself out!

Somewhere that’s not on the sofa.

Maybe you just need to get a more uncomfortable sofa.

Butch:

No no, it’s worse.

Mrs. McP comes home, he wants to talk to her, they both plop down on the sofa and start talking/complaining/fighting RIGHT THERE. Every night! No glare is too intense to make them move. So I usually just sigh and leave and get a drink and make salad.

Feminina:

Oh, dude. Definitely move the comfy couch. Put it in the basement, and put some hard, pokey chairs where it is right now. Then get yourself a secret cushion that you can put on one of the hard pokey chairs so you can play from it.

Your living room is too user-friendly! That only encourages people to use it. And we see where that’s gotten you.

Time to design a much less welcoming space. Call it rustic or something. Make it look pretty. And be very uncomfortable to sit in unless you have a special cushion.

Butch:

That’s ingenious!

And unnecessary, as the downstairs has two, count ’em, two couches, both of which are very comfy, AND a loveseat! And very tasteful lamps that provide lovely mood light.

Go. There. Family.

But NOOOOOOOOOO. They gotta be up here.

Feminina:

Wow. This is a tough case.

OK, you’ll just have to remove all the seating from the upstairs entirely. They won’t sit down on the hard floor just to annoy you! Probably.

Oh, who am I kidding, of course they will.

Butch:

That’s meatball’s favorite place to fall asleep.

Better get rid of the rug, too.

Feminina:

Get rid of the rug. Sprinkle the floor with D4s. Blare angry music. I don’t know what more you can try!

Butch:

Nothing. It’s hopeless.

And I didn’t get it installed, either. Because shit came up.

I’m a terrible blogmate.

Feminina:

Well, I’m also terrible lately, so we can be terrible together. Don’t worry, we’ll get there. We always do.

Because the alternative is too terrible to imagine.

Butch:

It so is.

Had Lewis Finch stayed put with his game console, none of that would’ve happened.

Man, I’m tired.

Though seeing my hockey buddy tomorrow, and he is known to make margaritas with this smoked tequila. Shit’s looking up.