I love it when my husband loses his shit and I look like "Parent of the Year". It doesn't happen often.
I'm not sure which brilliant dipshit came up with the idea to have a "Lemonade Stand Contest"... but with "Regular-down-the-street-kid-who-thinks-she-lives-here" visiting, it was 2 against 3. Each were going to have "advertising signs". Each were strategically planning their set-up, supplies, price per cup and total dollar goal for the sale. This was some serious MBA economic shit-planning going down.
Damn, these kids are brilliant when they want to be. And they have never been so juiced up like this.
It wasn't long before the unraveling began. The older kids sneak Oreo cookies, bagged chips and teddy grahams to sell. The youngest of the group throws open the garage door, flies up the steps to the kitchen with flushed cheeks screaming at his father and I:
"WE NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED SNACKS TO SELL!!!!!"
My husband wants absolutely nothing to do with it anymore. He's moved their tables 13 times, filled 2 pitchers of lemonade, removed 1 mosquito from someones cup and has slipped on a patch of ice chips.
My husband to the desperate 5 year old in attempt at keeping calm: "No, go outside. You don't need any snacks."
Desperate Child: "YES!!!!!! WE DO!!!! The older girls have snacks! We NEEEEEEEED SNACKS too!!!"
My husband [with veins in neck about to burst] to desperate 5 year old: "NO YOU DON'T. If you don't go outside, you're done."
Desperate Child who Never gives up opens pantry and starts tearing through food packages, whipping pasta boxes and other food packages out onto the floor.
And then I hear it.
This is what my husband screamed in slow-motion, to our desperate 5 year old child in the very next moment, stooping down to eye level, only 3 inches from his face:
And the sale continued. With an entire final count of $6.85 in total earnings. Minus the $22.50 cost of snacks, cups and lemonade on my part. But hey, who's counting right? Especially when the final outcome is my husband quietly muttering under his breath as he leaves the kitchen:
"You're a way better person than I am."
No honey, it's just your turn. That's all.