The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. Youngest Son wakes me up, too early. I lay in bed awake until Girlfriend leaves for work and I'm forced to get up. Today is a school day but Oldest Son tells me there is a teachers’ strike today. The school is open, but only with minimum services, so the children will probably just be playing all day.

This has already happened about five times in the last couple of months. Youngest Son doesn’t want to go because he says it will be boring, so I agree that he can stay at home.

Then I realise that with both kids at home today, I need to fill the whole day until Girlfriend gets home. I start thinking: what can we do for the next eight hours?

I draw up a chart with the hours of the day on it:

9 AM

10 AM

11 AM

12 PM

1 PM

2 PM

3 PM

The plan is to fill each hour with something. Next to 1 PM I write "Lunch" but I can't think of anything for the other times.

Youngest Son has been pestering me recently to go to the beach, so I suggest it.

“Shall we go to the beach today?”

Youngest Son and Oldest Son both say yes, and they seem enthusiastic. We need to be back home by 3 PM because there’s a food delivery coming, but I think it should be possible.

We start packing the bags. Youngest Son wants to bring some Punch and Judy-style puppets to the beach. I don’t think puppets are exactly beach equipment, but we take them anyway.

We walk to the car, an electric rental car. When we get there, I realise I've left Youngest Son's car seat at home. I need to go back to get it, because it's illegal for a child not to have one. So first we drive back home. I stop the car outside the apartment building, but there's a police car, so I move off again. When the police car is gone, I park on the pavement.

"I'll be back in a minute," I say to the kids.

I run inside, grab the car seat and run back out. I don't want to risk the police catching me parked illegally so I throw the car seat in the car and quickly start driving again, without putting Youngest Son in it. I then stop at the nearest petrol station so I can properly put Youngest Son in the car seat.

We drive to L’Escala. Youngest Son falls asleep in the back of the car. The drive is long and tedious. Every time I check how much time has passed, it's only been a few minutes.

We finally arrive in the beach town of L’Escala. I’m not very familiar with it. I see a parking space but it's a 10-minute walk from the beach. I keep driving and decide to chance it, hoping to find somewhere closer to the beach.

Eventually I find some empty spaces outside a few small local shops. One of the spaces is painted red and has a sign saying 30 minutes only, but I decide that probably only applies to that specific space. So I park in a normal-looking space nearby and hope it will be fine.

We walk down to the beach. It’s hot, so I find a spot in the shade. Youngest Son wants to build a big sandcastle, but we need water. Luckily, there’s a tap nearby, so I can fill a bucket from there.

Oldest Son gets to work on the sandcastle. I use the Punch and Judy puppets to act out an age-inappropriate play about the number 69. The puppets turn out to be surprisingly good.

But I can’t fully relax. In the back of my mind I keep thinking: what if the 30-minute limit applies to all the spaces? What if a tow truck is taking the car away right now?

At one point I look up and see a man in a high-vis vest, and think: what if he’s the tow truck guy?

Youngest Son and Oldest Son keep asking if we can have lunch yet because they’re hungry, even though they’ve already eaten almost a whole bag of crisps between them. I tell them the restaurant isn’t open yet. Then I check my phone and realise it has actually been open for almost an hour, so we walk back to the car, so we can drive to the restaurant. The car is still there. No tow truck. The whole towing scenario was entirely in my imagination.

We drive to the restaurant area. L’Escala has blue parking spaces, and I’m not sure what they mean or whether I’m allowed to park there. Eventually I find what looks like a normal parking space where anyone can park.

We get to the restaurant without a reservation. All the tables seem to be full, but then the waitress points to one and says, “What about that table?”

It’s perfect. Right by the beach, with a view of the sea.

I say, “Perfect,” and we sit down.

The kids order food: a huge portion of chips, croquettes for Youngest Son, and battered squid rings for Oldest Son. By this point the day is already getting quite expensive because of the rental car, so I decide not to order anything for myself. In the end, there are plenty of chips, so I eat some of those. Then we get ice creams and drive home.

When we get home, I let the kids use screens for a bit. I give Youngest Son my phone so he can watch some YouTube videos. He watches a documentary about the band Ambauka. Oldest Son uses my laptop to make some Chip’s Challenge 2 levels with with the built-in level creator. and it’s amazing. Honestly, it’s one of the best things I’ve seen: you can make your own *Chip’s Challenge* levels.

Girlfriend arrives home. She starts picking at things almost immediately.

She says to Oldest Son, almost word for word:

“Pick up these books or I’m going to throw them away. I’m going to throw them away, okay? I’m going to throw them away.”

I feel rage rise inside me. I step in and say:

“That’s a bit harsh. I don’t think we’re going to throw these books away.”

She says they’ve been left on the floor. At the same time, Oldest Son is using my laptop to make a Chip’s Challenge level, and I’m worried that if he gets up to pick up the books, the laptop might fall on the floor. It’s my prized possession, so that adds another layer of tension.

Then Girlfriend starts asking me to do things.

“Paul, can you put this bag away?”

I say yes, I’m doing it, just give me a minute.

Then, a few minutes later:

“Paul, can you sweep up here? There’s sand everywhere.”

Again, I say yes, I’ll do it, just give me a minute.

Then:

“When you’ve done that, can you sweep over here as well? There’s lots of sand here too.”

And that’s when I have an epiphany. It isn’t the children who cause most of the stress in my life. It's Girlfriend. I realise my stress levels have been completely flat all day until now. No real stress at all, even though the day has included several things that could easily have been stressful — the strike, taking the kids to the beach, parking in an unfamiliar town, worrying about the car being towed, lunch without a reservation, and getting back in time for the food delivery. I can deal with them. I can deal with the beach, the parking, the restaurant, the mess, the logistics, and the unpredictable situations.

But I find it much harder to deal with Girlfriend’s energy when she comes in and immediately starts criticising, threatening consequences, or giving instructions one after another.

If she had come to the beach with us, I think I would have been much more angry and stressed. The day itself was manageable. The difficult part was what happened when she got home.

Later I’m doing the dishes when I realise it’s the first of June, and I still need to make this month's Girona Buddies calendar.