So the other night was Taco Night at the Palace. For me and the DW taco night is a love hate relationship.
You see from the moment I found out that the DW was pregnant with our third child, Mini-me, I knew we were in trouble. Because I'm a sports guy, I like to think of it in sports terms. The DW and I have three clowns, and there are only two of us. Which means, insert sports reference here, for the rest of our lives, we will have to play zone defense.
See, when we had one and even two clowns we could double team, or play straight up man-to-man. You know, each of us was responsible for a clown at certain times, sort of a, you take this one and I'll take that one. But now we're outnumbered.
So back to Taco Night. We love Taco Night. We love Mexican food in general, but Taco Night can be one of the most frustrating nights known to parents who play the zone. You see normally we just put dinner on their plate, but what fun would Taco Night be if they couldn't make their own taco right? I mean isn't that half the thrill? Problem is, they can't. Sure they try, but the taco crumbles apart and someone cries, or the meat shoots out the back and someone whines, or they fill it too full and can't close the burrito. So it's DW and I to the rescue. And because they're clowns they don't understand the concept of just a minute, or let me get this done and I'll help you. Noooo, everybody has to have something right now. I swear it's like trying to herd cats. You got one standing in a chair, one crying because the taco fell apart, and one's out of her chair altogether dancing or whatever she was doing. And it never fails that right about the time the DW and I get everything settled down and start to enjoy our own Tacos one of 'em wants something else to drink?
So you see I love Taco Night, but when you play a zone it can be rough.
Tell me Lifers, is dinner crazy at your house?