Well, folks, here it is, Hell’s Kitchen.
Just look at it. Yikes. Can you hear the Jaws soundtrack playing in the background?
See the refrigerator, the last appliance standing, trembling in fear due to my presence?
Actually, I don’t want to talk about this room anymore. Too scary.
Let’s turn our attention instead to this section of the kitchen, although it’s equally terrifying to me.
Most of my friends, when they glance at the Wailing Wall, note that our family calendar looks different than theirs. Ours is…emptier. So I think it’s time for me to share something that might be very hard for youto accept. I’ve revealed a lot of sordid secrets on this blog, but the one that you’re about to read usually causes my friends the most anxiety. So let’s all take a deep breath first, okay? Are you ready?
Even if you look hard, you won’t find anything on our family calendar about soccer or dance or art or scouts or baby music class or whathaveyou. Because… here goes: My kids don’t do any extra- curricular activities. Nothing.No sports, no violin, no ballet, no Future Rocket Scientists Club, no Spanish…Nada.
I could insert the predictable comment here about how instead my children are perfectly content sitting around banging on pots and pans… but….moving right along.
Our decision to remain activitiless is considered child abuse where we live, so my neighborhood friends, who love my kids like their own, seemed concerned for a while. But then they all read this blog and got their priorities straight. Now they worry about our nutrition and general well being instead. And so they invite us to their soccer games sometimes and send over first aid kits and leftovers.
We have always depended on the kindness of neighbors.
So there you have it… my family has no lessons, so sports, no TV, no top sheets, no pans, no buns. Have I mentioned the bun situation?
We have hamburgers and hot dogs twice a week, but I find buns, much like top sheets, to be an extra extravagance for which I do not have the time, space, or patience. So like extra curricular activities, we pretend that buns don’t exist at my house.At my high school reunion picnic last week, Chase and Tish got in line to eat and when they saw the spread, Chase said with shock and VOLUME, “Mom! This party is so fancy! THEY HAVE BUNS!”I looked at him wearily and noticed that Tish was holding an open hot dog bun and licking the inside. Because she thought it was a Twinkie. I considered being mortified, but then I remembered that I’m generally too tired to be mortified. So I just looked to my friend Jennifer for help, because she reads the blog and is therefore sympathetic to our situation. She quietly suggested that maybe we should take some of the leftover buns home with us and talk about them and their many uses.
Kay, I said.
Have a great Monday, friends.