We went to the freezing but lovely Festival of Lights Parade downtown this evening. By freezing, I mean goodgraciousmeohmyDAMNitissupercold. Driving home when the excitement was over, all the kids started to quiet down in the car at about the same rate that their fingers and noses thawed. Jack, after a few minutes of wailing (turns out his hat had slid down over his eyes, oops. Will the real bad parents please stand up?), fell into one of those coma-like infant sleeps.
"Maybe he'll be so tired out he sleeps through the night," I commented to Kurt.
"Really? You think so?"
"No, of course not. I was just being optimistic."
Kurt glanced over at me, a non-committal sub-smile barely lining his face.
"What? That's who I am. I'm a glass half-full kind of girl!"
The non-committal expression morphed as he ever-so-slightly raised his eyebrows. "Hmmm," he murmured. The sound echoed as it bounced around that peanut gallery.
Okay, so I know that, what with me occasionally taking the stance that the glass is not only half-empty but also irreparably broken, I'm not exactly the optimistic type ALL THE TIME. But it was a nice night, the kids weren't crying and my fingers had started to comfortably return to the land of the living. He could have at least pretended to give me the benefit of the doubt.
Everyone's a critic. And they're all out to get me.
(Gee... I sure am thirsty. If only this cup here had more water in it. Sigh. Life is so unfair.)