Thrashed to Pieces

Two hours at Chuck E. Cheese on a Saturday night will do that to you. Especially after a full day of Junior Ricardipus wrangling while Mrs. Ricardipus hid out at home, writing her last essay of the term.

Oh, the fun... including:

- taking Junior Ricardipus #2 to a gymnastics lesson, with JR#1 in tow
- doing homework for most of an hour with JR1 during said lesson
- picking up lunch on the way home
- taking JR2 to her swimming lesson later in the afternoon
- and then hauling both JRs to the aforementioned cheesy establishment for a full-on barrage of noise, chaos and general birthday party anarchy.

At the end of it all, I felt like I'd been beaten with a stick. I don't know how Mrs. Ricardipus does this kind of thing on a regular basis, I really don't.


P.S. The last time I was at a Chuck E. Cheese was circa 1984 in Rochester, New York, on a school trip. I didn't like the place then, either.