So it's the fall of your Kindergarten year. By
my count, there's not a single activity you aren't signed up for yet.
You've got Soccer Monday and Wednesdays with games on Saturdays (Go
BlueBelles), Gymnastics on Tuesday, and Dance on Thursdays.
It's pretty out of control but you seem to deal better than your mother or
I. And we'll get to documenting all of that, but first, a
little interlude.
Since our family is now at the mercy of the Houston
Independent School District and their capacious scheduling whims, Daddy draws
most of the mid-day domestic duty while Mommy makes money and behaves like an
adult. So, when you got a half day off on a mid-September Tuesday
and then the next day for "teacher workday," which just so
happened to also be Rosh Hosanna, I loaded you and Bro in the car, drove two
hours north to Bastrop, and de-camped at the Hyatt Lost
Pines.
Really the only thing about the Lost Pine Hyatt you need to
know, or needed to know then, is this:
That's right. Lazy River. Oh
yeah. And there was virtually no one else there.
We had the place to ourselves, which meant that you and Brother could goof off
in the pool and fountains and then the slide until you turned into two giant
almond colored prunes. Which you did.
You and Brother went down the slide on a continuous loop- you by yourself and
me carrying Bro. He's a maniac, but slows me down, so you probably
went twice for every time we did. You're so light that after you
flew off the slide, you kind of skipped across the water. You were
literally the last person off before they locked it up for the
night.
At night, we got chicken fingers at an on-campus
restaurant. It's great travelling with y'all because you are
so cute that everyone wants to help out, and they just assume I need another
drink. But the highlight of the evening was
Smores.
I'm sure you remember how this ended: your marshmallow was a
perfect golden brown and Brother's was a 3 alarm fire hazard that he was waving
in the faces of terrified old people. And once I got the
charred husk off the marshmallow, he managed to get the gooey center stuck
in his hair to the point where the stick was dangling out when he let go of
it. It gave him a very nice smelling Mohawk until we got
home.
The next morning, minds were blown again: room
service. Brother still won't stop talking about how they brought
him pancakes in his bed.
There was, of course, more pool until it was time to
go. Relatively little crying, no one crapped in the pool to
my knowledge, and Mommy got a little free time. That counts as
successful around here.
So, despite all the bullshit and logistical nightmare of
feeding, clothing, and providing creature comforts for two post-modern
kindergarten types, we're definitely going to do it again the next time HISD
caves to the Zionist lobby.
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