So, where exactly did I go wrong? It was Father’s Day Weekend, and with my two sons, the four children I inherited when I married Natalie and our seven grandchildren, I figured I’d better spend some time on Saturday cleaning out the spare bedroom to make room for the piles of presents I was about to receive.
Trouble was, late Saturday the weekend started to fall apart.
It was Father’s Day eve — OK, so maybe it’s not such a big deal around your house, but it is around ours … or at least it should be, don’t you think?
Yeah, well, Father’s Day eve is obviously a concept completely lost on my two sons, who were off doing their own things on Saturday night (and, yes, parties were involved — parties that didn’t involve me). And it was lost on my wife, too … very lost!
All I was hoping for was a relaxing Saturday evening. It had been a long, tiring last couple of weeks on the job scene, what with me burning the midnight oil while producing our annual graduation special section. And Natalie? Oh, she was wearing herself out, too — wine tasting with friends in Grass Valley, then catching the grandson’s baseball game and the pizza party to follow, and finally sharing dinner and a movie with a friend. Yeah, just grueling!
It was all set up. We’d have a date night on Saturday and go out, just the two of us. A relaxing dinner, a funny movie, a quiet evening, then …
POOF! It all went away in a phone call.
The singsong of her cell phone tone sounded, and the next thing I knew we were not only canceling our date night but we were having a Saturday night sleepover and dinner at home. And, to add insult to injury, I was going to have to cook!
“There’s been a change in plans,” Natalie told me on Saturday.
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “What, are the boys going to come over and barbecue dinner for me?”
“Not exactly,” she said.
“Oh, then your kids and all the grandkids are coming over to make dinner for us?”
“Close,” she answered. “Two of the grandkids are coming over, and we’re going to baby-sit while their parents go out to dinner and movie.”
“But what about our dinner?” I asked, somewhat pathetically.
“Oh, whatever you want to make will be fine with us,” she said with a certain joy in her voice.
Uh, what’s wrong with this picture?
“I guess you’ve forgotten,” I said. “Remember, it’s Father’s Day eve.”
“Father’s Day eve?” she said. “There’s no such thing as Father’s Day eve. It’s just a regular Saturday night.”
“Well, that’s obvious,” I said.
“Oh, quit feeling sorry for yourself,” she scolded. “You know that your boys are taking you to the Giants-A’s game on Tuesday, and you know that my kids will be good to you, too. So get over yourself!”
I suppose she’s right. Father’s Day eve is really no big deal, so I guess baby-sitting a couple of the grandkids won’t be so bad.
“Oh, did I mention that Riley’s going to come over, too?” she said, referring to her sister’s granddaughter.
Great. My dinner and a movie had suddenly turned from a steak and a baked potato and “The Hangover” to burgers and mac and cheese and “Aladdin.”
So much for Father’s Day Weekend.