Well as everyone knows by now, or at least you should know by now, it is Father's Day. The one day of the year when the most collect phone calls are placed. Sort of ironic. Didn't really do anything for Father's Day, as I didn't much feel like it. Got my Dad a little book, and am having photos printed out for him and my father in law. That is about it. Got Rob a couple books, and a card from Spenser.
Last night we went out with a co-worker of Rob's, and his girlfriend. Nice people. Very nice people, the both of them. The guy M, he has to be one of the nicest persons I have met. I don't know if that is because he was raised in Tennessee, or maybe it is that, and he is inherently good. Anyway, I just think the world of him, and Spenser likes him, and Rob of course considers him to be a friend, not just co-worker, which I think is pretty cool.
So we went out for dinner, which was mediocre at best. The service was just off. Like for example, we ordered goat cheese (barf-Rob likes it) for an appetizer, and it never came out. We got our drinks, and our baskets, yes plural, of bread, but no cheese. So we pulled the waiter aside and asked about it. He paled. He had forgotten to either put the order in (ding, ding, ding, we have a winner), or as he said, it was just sitting there waiting to be picked up and brought out. For 15 minutes. So they comped us the goat cheese.
They brought out our dinners, and then like five minutes after that brought out the free goat cheese. The dinner was alright, I mean I have had worse. I had ordered bbq chicken, and it came with Yukon Gold potato hash browns, and sauteed spinach with garlic. The chicken was ok, I mean I liked the bbq sauce.
The hash browns, were not in fact hash browns, but in reality sliced potates that they maybe had baked. I guess it didn't matter since the put the bbq chicken on top of the hash browns, which then got topped with a huge amount of bbq sauce. Call me crazy, but I actually liked the potatoes that way! I know, I am weird.
The spinach, was, well, spinach. I don't like fresh spinach, unless I cook it, and even then it is so-so. I like, canned spinach. There, I've said it. I like canned spinach. Could eat an entire can of it by myself. Cold. Straight from the can.
I just wasn't overly impressed for what I paid for the food. And the service was not good. I think the waiter was new, or if not new he was just that bad. It was not even that busy, and he looked frazzled. Felt bad for him, but at the same time, hey, you know when you are a waiter, you have to know what the hell you are doing.
Today we went and got our brat, I mean Spenser from my parents house, as he spent two nights there. He was in a great mood when we got him and as is usually the case it has gone down hill from there.
He has a friend over, and for whatever reason, my child will not share, or be flexible about anything. If his friend says black, he says white. It is old. He was warned about this before the child came over and I had told him if I have to get after him, the child will go home and my child will be put to bed, no matter what time it is. Of course this is taken as some sort of challenge, I guess. Because he has just started being a brat about the game cube.
I detest the game cube. I hate it. This is one of the things that always causes issues between Spenser and everyone else in the entire freakin world. He wants to play what he wants, how he wants, when he wants it. If anyone else wants something different he go nuts. So he started doing it about what game to play. Since he decided to be a brat about it, which he was being, I took the decision away from him.
I told him he would play what his guest wanted before he could play what he wanted. Start the tears and growling. So I swat his butt. More tears and the "oh that hurt" mantra. Now when I say swat, what I am talking about is open hand on clothed butt. Not hard enough to leave a mark, not hard enough to even sting my hand. Just enough to get his attention.
Sigh. Then he argues with me some more. Boy do I love being argued with by a 7 year old. It just makes my fucking day. So I take his chin, and move his head so he is looking at me, since he refuses to look at me when I am talking to him about this.
He then starts the chanting/crying/whining about me "almost choking" him. My hand is no where near his throat. Not even remotely close. My thumb and fore finger are on either side of his chin, so he looks at me as I speak to him. Big sigh.
He cannot shut his mouth. He just keep digging the hole deeper. So I trot out the old "if the game cube is so much of an issue I am selling it and all of the games, because I am tired of hearing about it every time you play with someone," that gets the look of terror and hate going on his face. He then shuts up, and plays what his guest had picked out. And he has fun. Honest to god fun.
I don't get it. Why must this happen every time? Every damn time. I hate the game cube. It turns kids into monstrous brats who do nothing but complain and whine. If I could do it all over again, I would have never bought the stupid thing.
So now I have a child who is on the brink of a melt down, and we have to go out to dinner with his friend and his friends family. It should be interesting. (read murderous, since I will probably want to kill the child since he will no doubt throw a freakin fit at the first most innocuous thing that happens--"there is a fly outside the window" scream scream scream, pout pout pout.)
Yes I know I called my child a brat. Some would never call their child a brat. Some do not however, have a child that is bipolar and spoiled beyond all get out. And yes I know I am the one who spoiled him, so you know, I understand the whole you did it to yourself thing. I do not need chastised about it, because I am kicking my own ass about it, every.damn.day.