Phil departed the premises last night. It was time. (It was long PAST time, but I’m working pretty hard on this whole “saying yes” thing.) No tears were shed. Any residual sadness has been smoothed over with frozen dairy confection, and our house is once again a blessedly bug-free zone.
By way of partial explanation as to why I ever allowed that in the first place, I offer you a summer manifesto for the big kids, over at Alpha Mom. ‘Tis the season to say yes, to build skills, and to chill out. All at once! I THINK THAT WOULD BE EASIER WITH A FUNCTIONAL POOL, but regardless, we’re working on it. (Hope springs eternal. The pool guy supposedly found the leak, so CROSS YOUR FINGERS.)
I was concerned until I remembered who Phil was. So…good news! Fingers crossed ~
I hope this is just the sort of summer you guys need to reconnect, relax, and enjoy being together.
My summer manifesto for my big kid is quite short: YOU ARE SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD GET A JOB FOR THE LOVE OF MY SANITY.
My 17 yo big kid needs a job this summer too, but he isn’t having much luck finding one (of course the lackadaisical I’ll ask at a few places probably has something to do with that). Maybe he will be more inclined now that he’s had a fender bender and needs to pay us back for fixing the car. I can hope, right…
Dare I ask where Phil went when he departed?
Into the forest. Good riddance, Phil.
Hopefully he didn’t leave a trail of breadcrumbs on his way. :D
I was so hoping your reply is that he went to a farm in the country where he would have lots of animal friends.
Oh my. Phil caused me to have a nightmare last night. It was dreadful. I was laying on the floor, he was on the ceiling above me (and he was extremely large) and I was afraid he would fall on me. Someone reached up to grab him, dropped him on me, he scurried at me and under my blanket and now, thank you very much, I need therapy.
Glad to hear Phil is now residing where he rightfully belongs.
Laundry! You are brilliant! Nine is old enough for laundry! Then maybe there won’t be so much bickering over the vacuum. (How many loads til it loses its ‘I’m a grown-up!’ status do you think?)