Golden What?

It’s Golden Week here in Japan.


Okay, so I’m lacking in enthusiasm. Basically the whole country has a large portion of the next seven days off, and the entire populace is out and about at all the same places I would like to be out and about.

But that’s to be expected and isn’t really post worthy.

But can I just rant vent for a second?

Everyone in the Hamakko household is vacationing except, of course, for moi. The kids, I can forgive. But HRH should know better. He has the entire week off and has yet to help out with anything, unless of course you consider criticism to be helpful. I really don’t want his help with laundry and housework, actually, since he’ll just go on and on about how he doesn’t approve of the way I do things, but a little help with the rug rats would be nice, no? Maybe he could wipe a butt or brush some teeth or something once in a while?

But he doesn’t, and when he makes comments like that I’m using too much toothpaste or that I should have cut up their food smaller, it’s very very….not good for one’s marriage I guess is a nice way to put it.

I spent all morning cleaning and getting kids ready, but you wouldn’t know to look at this Chernobyl-esque disaster right now, then take the kids to cheer on his mom at this “ground golf” tournament she is in today. We came home; I made lunch. I cleaned up lunch. I made a cake. While it was cooking, I asked him to watch the kids for a few so I can pop in to the grocery store without being whined at and embarrassed by children with a bad case of the gimme’s.

I was gone for like fifteen minutes.

I came home and find he’s plopped the children in front of the TV.


Can’t you parent for fifteen minutes without bringing out the big guns? They would have been happy to play or be read to or, I don’t know, have someone who speaks proper Japanese help them with their Japanese homework or something….

But there he sits, watching break dancers on You Tube. Not that he dances, or anything.

And now there THEY sit, being encouraged by Dora the Explorer to talk back at the TV.

At least it’s a chocolate cake.


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