Everybody's doing it

I'm happy to report that after approximately one hundred thirty-three million, nine hundred twenty thousand seconds of enslavement to the child-bearing-birthing-nursing-rearing-machine, I have at last seen the light at the end of the tunnel. And it is good.

Over the weekend the Bugglefam trekked out to the beach club despite the misty, overcast weather. Clearly my morning raisin bran had been tinged with PCP, because right before strapping everyone into the car, I shoved a magazine into our LL Bean beach bag. I figured that, at most, I might get to peruse the cover bylines, maybe flip halfway through the first twenty-two pages of advertisements, if Bugglehub was willing to spot me a couple of minutes.

It was so much more than I could ever have imagined.

Bugglehub and I sat, FOR HALF AN HOUR, in our teal canvas beach chairs, facing the kids' play area, peering over our periodicals only periodically to catch a glimpse of Bugglegirl making sand angels and Buggleboy veering dangerously close to the edge of the jungle gym. I daresay we almost forgot we had offspring, but for the dad sitting next to us who felt the need to broadcast this tidbit to his two young boys:

"You know why I was gone for so long?"
"Why, Daddy?"
"I had to make a poop."
"Was it a big brown poop?"
"Yep. It sure was."

Yes, children have emerged from my nether regions. Even so, I really didn't ever need to overhear this conversation. Particularly as I'm attempting to ignore said children.