Leading up to this excursion, he has said some pretty schtoopid things:
As I have moaned for three days about the lack of passion/direction/rewarding life experiences I am accumulating, he turns to me and says, "Have you heard of...(foreign historical site)?"
"No." I answer, but just by the name I can tell where it is.
"I'm thinking I might go there when my plane lands...
yes, you do that.
Last night I ask, "Are you packed?"
I have to do this with him or he will wait until the night before his flight and then pack until 3 am (with all lights engaged) when I am expected to drive him to the airport at 4am. He will sleep on the plane, I will come back home and get kids ready for school. "I started," He says.
"Did you pack your running things?" Training for a half-marathon doesn't take a holiday because he's in a different country, "Well, some, but the rest of it hasn't been washed yet."
The end of that sentence weighs more than I did when delivered Miss Ky.
So, I walk (with attitude) into the laundry room where there is ONE running shirt and TWO pairs of shorts. WTH? The man has several other running shirts and he can't pack because I haven't done his laundry in the last ten minutes?
Yesterday, I stood on a frozen pitch watching J2 become a mud man in football training, thinking of how I'm going to be soaking those white shorts and socks for a week. Have I mentioned how I loathe laundry? My wellies do not do much for warmth and I may have lost all use of my toes permanently. Nearly two hours he trained.
We enter the house, Mud man and Frozen me, to be greeted by Husband who is dressed to go for his run... "it should take an hour". The kids need lunch and the 7 year-old needs to wrap a gift and sign a card for his best friend's birthday that starts in an hour and a half...
I have to award him points. One look at my face and he decided he could do his "long" run on Monday. In a different country.
Daughter says some interesting things too. Some can't be repeated. REALLY would like to know where they come from...
Tonight, the kids are playing a game at the dinner table while I wash up the pans. It sounds a little like "Spin-the Bottle" but the "bottle" may be a fork being spun around on my nice wood table-- not sure. Don't want to look. I hear LOTS of laughter.
"THIS person," J2 declares, "Will have to stand on a chair and sing..."
giggle giggle followed by Hysterical laughing when the person is picked and has to do their dare.
Next turn, "This person... has to go on to Britains Got Talent and just fart and burp".
They're convulsing now.
"THIS person has to go on Britain's Got Talent NEKKED!"
Miss Ky shouts, "ME! Pick ME!"
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