The old lady is out of town for three days and it's just me and the spawn. Whenever she's gone, I tend to go into hyperdad drive and try to do a whole bunch of stuff to fill up the time. We rented movies last night ("Escape to Witch Mountain" and "Big Top Pee-Wee") and we popped some corn. Of course, like an idiot, I stayed up until midnight watching "Say Anything" for probably the 80th time. Why do I have to watch these movies over and over?! I don't even like Ione Skye. She's got a total horsey mouth.
Anyway, of course, the kidlets got up at 7:30 this morning, even after a long "talking to" last night about the joys of "sleeping in." So I get up and tell them that, for a special treat, we're all going out to breakfast with a couple of friends at "Flapjacks," this glorified Denny's that everyone seems to love out here. Give me a "Golden Apple" over this place any day, but whatever. It's Michigan.
So the kids are like, "Do we have to go? We want to stay home!" What is with them? When I was a kid, if my dad said "Let's go out to breakfast!" I'd be in the car, revving the engine in two seconds. What's not to like about going out for food? It's like they're space aliens sometimes. I have absolutely no idea where they're coming from. Don't like breakfast... bah!
But we're going, and they're going to enjoy their pancake-shaped-like-a-bear's-head if they know what's good for them. And I'm going to eat my cold, crappy hobo-skillet-hashy-eggy-vomitus and drink a four dollar orange juice and we're going to have FUN! Woo!