When we started having children, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I never knew it would be this hard.
We celebrated our twentieth anniversary as a couple this past weekend. For the third time since we moved to San Diego (and only the second time since Matthew was born), we went to a restaurant. The food was delicious (I didn’t cook it) and I’d forgotten what it’s like to have dinner without getting up six hundred times. But it was expensive: two salads plus two entrées, with only water for beverages, and no dessert was $100 plus tip. I appreciated dinner, but for that much money it needs to be a better experience. The restaurant was in Rancho Santa Fe, a rather well-to-do community. Most of the other diners were stopping for dinner on the way home from golf or a plastic surgical procedure; there were many third wives there. The couple next to us were slightly in the bag when we sat down, plus his teeth whistled as he spoke; think of Herbert, the neighborhood pedophile from Family Guy. We’ll go elsewhere next time.
Maxwell has had no symptoms from his surgery last week. Both he and William are starting to eat a startlingly huge volume of food. Max is starting to teethe again, but most of the time, he is nothing but adorable.
Swimming lessons are predictably unpredictable. For Day 1, all kids got in the water and had a good time, with minimal crying. On Day 2 (last week), Matthew would not get in at all; we had to postpone the Littles’ lesson because of Max’s surgery. On Day 3 (this week), Matthew had a great time. William and Max screamed the entire time, although Max calmed at the end.
Here, Matthew is happy as he practices kicking away from the wall.
The babies love to be at the park.
Matthew is in summer camp. Summer camp is like regular preschool, without the pesky learning modules. Camp is about having fun and about working on socialization skills, which I think we can all agree is an important skill for toddlers. In this school, we call our classroom colleagues friends.
On most mornings, Matthew tells me that he doesn’t want to see friends anymore and he’d rather go to the park to see that hussy girl Nora. Of course, we go to school anyway and we don’t make any effort to see that hussy girl Nora, who I’m sure is nice and comes from a nice family but our son should focus on his studies so that he has a plan1 for how to support us all when he’s out of school.2
On Tuesday everything was going well until I gathered Matthew and his things to leave for school. And then we had a grand mal tantrum. He screamed and ugly-cried all the way to school, which made the 4.4 miles especially pleasant. The teachers told me later that three minutes after I left, he was happy and playful. Not only do I have a well-demonstrated superpower that allows me to drive a stock price to zero, but also I can facilitate tantrums.
This could explain why we don’t go out much.
I’m not one to dictate a career path; whatever the kids choose will be right by me, as long as it’s a lawyer, a doctor, or a fund manager. I am the very definition of flexible.
Papa wants to live on Lake Como in a contemporary home with fantastic views, excellent wines, fast cars, and gorgeous art. It goes without saying that Papa will need a manservant who participated in Olympic-level gymnastics, swimming, and wrestling but gave that up to pursue his selfless dream of keeping me comfortable and well-served in my later years.
I support your second footnote and will visit you in Lake Como, as long as you mean Italy! ❤️
Happy anniversary to you both!