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Coronapalooza continues to affect our daily lives. I still need to remind my little Miracles of Christ to bring a mask with them when we leave for school. Make sure people have a mask when they go to work. Make sure I have a mask. Masks, masks, everywhere masks.

We also need to do a little extra coordinating if we want to go out to eat. There are seven of us. I don’t even know what the regulations are anymore. I don’t know what the limits are for parties at restaurants. Sometimes we’ll have two separate tables. I try to lobby for a table of two and a table of five. I figure the children can take care of themselves and wife and I can have a chance to catch up and discuss whatever strategies we need for an upcoming task or challenge. This is hard because the children (the teenagers), despite being reminded we are in public (which means we all have to act normal), feel the need to verbally assault one another and criticize each other for their sophomoric behavior. These instances of showing off their immaturity will sometimes include a physical assault on one’s person. Again, wife says she doesn’t have teenagers. She has toddlers.

We recently tried to spend a couple of days at a hotel. We thought some time in the pool and walking around Boston would be a great way to spend a couple of days. When we got there, we found out the pool was closed (not blaming the guy at the front desk unless he designs the website). That put a little wrinkle in our plans. No problem. We could still find other things to do. One day, we decided to visit the U.S.S. Constitution and museum. This got me excited (see “The Valley Forge Death March”). I was totally up for that, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw Old Ironsides. The first time I did visit was when my grandparents took me and my brother one day after school. I was about the same age as The Oppressed is now.

We got to the ship. It was closed because of the ‘Rona. I thought being outside would minimize the chance of contracting it. I guess not. We went to the museum. As soon as we got inside, we were informed by the nice person behind the desk (and barrier) that the museum was closed because of the ‘Rona. Exhibits, enclosed in glass cases, had sheets draped around them… To protect them from the ‘Rona, I guess. Wife and I looked at each other. What were we going to do? The nice person behind the desk (and barrier) did inform us that their gift shop was open. The ‘Rona can’t get you there.

We went to the gift shop. The gaggle bought snacks and drinks. It had been a few hours since they last had some tonic, so they were suffering from withdrawal; and what’s a drink without snacks? You can’t have one without the other. I’ve learned a lot from teenagers.

I walked around the gift shop. The Boy, The Oppressed and I saw toy muskets for sale. I gave a quick lesson on how they worked and the process that was involved in loading and firing one, reminding them that you had to do all that while people were firing at you. After the impromptu history lesson, I found some coloring books, decks of cards and other “fun” (for me) things to do to while we were in our hotel room. The decks of cards are still unopened. In the middle of the excitement of finding the dated, mundane, toys and diversions, I forgot the children had brought screens with them. How foolish of me. Why bore yourself to tears with “War” or “Go Fish” with someone right in front of you when you can play Roblox or Minecraft with someone, anyone, remotely?

It certainly wasn’t what we were expecting. Not much is these days for anyone here. Oh, well. At least we were able to hang out together and get outside for some exercise and fresh air. Wife was able to get away from her work for a little bit. We were able to get away and we had some good stories to tell the dog.

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If you want something done right you have to do it yourself. In my case, if I want something done I have to do it myself.

I have previously mentioned each of the Miracles of Christ are given a chore. This is their individual chore for two weeks. Normally, I find myself doing other people chores if people are going to have clean dishes come dinnertime or if I want clean clothes.

One particular child was charged with laundry duty for a period of time. This responsibility came with more than a few teachable moments for everyone in the house. Said child learned there is an indicator on the washing machine that tells you when the door is locked. Maybe they didn’t see it. Maybe “Door Locked” was too difficult to comprehend. Whatever it was, they wanted to add something to the washing machine after it had started. Rather than pause the wash to unlock the door, they decided to try brute force to get it open. It worked. The door opened. The door broke and we needed someone to come and fix the door to the washer but it worked. And the door opened.

There was a positive to come from this. The child learned to look before trying to open the washer. An added bonus for them was learning more of the features that came with our state of the art washing machine, like a door that locks when the clothes inside are being washed. What will they think of next?

Then again, the clothes actually making it down to the basement and into the washing machine are an improvement. Bedrooms throughout our humble abode have hampers that are piled high with dirty clothes that are waiting to go into the laundry room. One nameless child has a hamper that has clean, folded clothes in their hamper. But that’s a story for another day.

I find myself bringing clothes down and doing a load of laundry myself on occasion. This prevents the occasional child from telling me and Wife they have no underwear. Sometimes the child in charge of laundry will help out by moving the clothes from the washer to the dryer or from the dryer to a table in the basement. That’s it. They don’t fold the clothes. They don’t bring the clothes upstairs. One of the children does their own laundry. They never run out of clothes.

I find our laundry laborer on the couch and ask about the clean, unfolded clothes on the table waiting to be worn by eager members of out family. “Oh. I got busy.” (Netflix) “Oh. I’m gonna get to it soon.” (XBox) “I’m going to get to it.” (Pick something.)

Like I said, I find it to be easier if I just do it myself. I find I have clean clothes that way. Plus, it prevents people from being killed by a collapsing mountain of clothes.

Drake wants Heineken and Jack Daniels.

Taylor Swift wants Starbucks Grandes delivered to her before 11 a.m.

Mariah Carey wanted bendy straws to go with her champagne.

Every diva has their food demands when it comes to what it will take to get them to perform. They don’t even need to be an entertainer preparing for a show before thousands of adoring fans. It can be a child who needs to get up and ready for camp.

Loyal readers of brave-daddy have seen and shared the heartwarming stories of the ungrateful Miracles of Christ. The daily struggles begin when they are told it’s time to get up and face the day. Once they grace us with their presence, they inform me of their displeasure with the day’s menu. There is always one we can count on to be up and out of bed long after they’re supposed to. When this happens, the menu is narrowed down to a piece of fruit or a granola bar. A granola bar. The humanity! This also happens when the children take their sweet time deciding what they want to eat. Time is running out and the menu will reduce to what can be made and consumed in the remaining time they have.

Morning requests are usually something like pancakes. I tell them that’s not possible. We need to get ready. People need to get dressed, pack their bags. Have cereal. Can I get it for them? It’s out of their reach. These are the same little darlings that will move a chair to the cabinet for the candy that is on the top shelf. But no, these are divas and they insist of the highest standards of service. Lady Gaga has her smoothie station. My children need cereal pulled out, poured out and served. Or maybe a breakfast burrito. Why can’t we have pancakes?

Keep in mind these children are running around at camp. They bring water with them. We also try to make sure they have something to drink with breakfast. They want juice. I give them juice. Are you going to drink your juice? Sure. Drink your juice. I am. (They’re not.) It’s time to go. We’re in the car. I hear a voice say, “I’m thirsty.”

This isn’t limited to breakfast. There are plenty of examples of dinner where the children are led to the table and disgusted at the swill and slop before them. Marinated meat. Fresh vegetables. Who does this to children? They don’t want this. They don’t want that. There will be threats if the menu doesn’t change. Strikes. Protests. Polish hostage situations behind bedroom doors. They won’t come out until there are acceptable items on the menu.

I don’t negotiate with terrorists.

This new week brings us to the end of another school year. The Oppressed, The Boy, and The Gaggle welcome the end of another year in elementary school and high school and the added challenges brought upon by home schooling in this gauntlet they call “Coronapalooza”. God willing, the little Miracles of Christ will return to a physical school building when September rolls around with its gentle reminders of changing seasons and crisp air that brings cooler and eventually colder temperatures.

But all that is in the future. Now, we rest and savor the warm weather and look fondly upon the memories created by the ungrateful walking miracles who have never endured harsher treatment than the cruel injustices imposed upon them by Yours Truly. These assignments were not handed out by their beloved teachers they came to know and love within the friendly confines of their school. Nay, these blatant violations of humanity and common decency were thought up by me. The same one who refuses to let them drink soda with every meal. The one who won’t allow them to stay in front of the television all day everyday.

Gone are the mornings of running around looking for a charged device for an already-started class meeting. We will fondly remember the six-hour Polish Hostage Crises over copying four or five sentences and having three words done at the end of said six hours.

We will not be chasing cherubs around the backyard or down the street while a yet-to-be completed math assignment (or problem) sits on the table. Reading a book (or a word) together will wait until the leaves turn and weather changes. Then, at that glorious change of the seasons, the children will be (please, Jesus) palmed off to the teachers who will no doubt be eager to make up for lost time and hear about what they have done over the summer and how they are ready to resume work in the classroom.

Yes. The time now is for campfires and more lamenting about how bored they are without a screen. Stars? That’s nice. They can learn about that on Wikipedia or YouTube. We don’t want s’mores. We want ice cream. There’s no ice cream? Why don’t you love us? The smoke is getting in my eyes. The big spray smells. We’re bored. Can we watch TV?

Daddy needs a drink.