After Zach won his tennis match, we were going to stop somewhere on the way home for a Friday night beer and let the kids hang out with us. Then, since not everyone appreciates being at a bar with 3 kids coughing in harmony, we realized that this maybe wasn't the best idea. Nothing ruins happy hour more than getting nasty looks from a bunch of drunks and having the occasional lime wedge chucked at your head. Plus, it was time for Zoe's evening dose of antibiotic.
So then the plan changed to racing home, giving Zoe a mild sedative and putting her to bed, and leaving Zach to babysit while we went out without them. While this seemed like an easy task to pull off, we ran into a couple snags. The fact that Zoe wouldn't stop galloping around the house singing a song about "ride 'em cowboy in Texas, horses horses horses" at the top of her lungs delayed her bedtime. Also, we were both ready for a beer now, not 45 minutes from now. So, within seconds of Doug saying "We could just stay home and pursue our quest toward alcoholism" I heard the comforting sound of a beer can opening, and we started inhaling chips and salsa that didn't cost $10.95. Sure, we couldn't swear nearly as much as we wanted and the people watching wasn't as entertaining as it could have been, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made.
I eventually told Zach and Charlie that, since they were both still coughing, I wanted them to go to bed by 9:30. I got the expected response of "What? You're obviously (cough cough) insane (cough)." but they headed up anyway, at 9:40.
"Just once," I whined to Doug. "I wish they would actually take me seriously and go to bed at the time I tell them to!"
"You surprise me sometimes by being so trusting," he said. "Tell them to be in bed 20 minutes before you actually want them there. You definitely need to become more cynical."
He did have a point, and that is something I'm definitely willing to work on.