Come on, come on and do the locomotion with me

Do you know that song?  The one by Grand Funk Railroad?

Do it nice and easy, now, and don't lose control
A little bit of rhythm and a lot of soul
Well, come on, come on, and do the loco-motion with me

I started singing that song in my head yesterday on my way to pick Elliott up from school.  I know most of the words.  At my parents house, we've got the song on one of those little records, a single, that's called a 45, right?  It's one of the songs we'd listen to time and time again when we were little.  This, a little Tommy James, a little John Denver and James Taylor, a little Jethro Tull, and Elton John's Crocodile Rock thrown in to round things out.  Yes, my parents music was the music of my childhood just as my music is the soundtrack to the hood of my children as well.

But, that's not my point.  Maybe the name of the band is just as important to me right now as the song.

Grand Funk.

Ever feel like you are in a Grand Funk?  One of those funkadelic funks that stink of funkitude that you just can't shake the funkity stank off of?

You think maybe a new watch or pair of jeans might help.  Or maybe indulging in a heaping helping of pizza.  Or some amazingly amiable alliteration on your out of touch, no one really reads these things any more blog?

Anyway, can I tell you non-readers of my non-blog, that I cannot tell you the last time I did anything with my husband where there wasn't at least one child tagging along.  Or that I had a conversation with him that was too legit to quit (meaning not about said children, but something else that was interesting) where I wasn't interrupted by a little person, or a sporting event, or my sister wife, or falling asleep.  There are lots of conversations I forget because I have fallen asleep.  Or, the last time I ate a meal where someone didn't burp, fart, shoot something out their nose, cry, gag, try to cut meat and send it flying across the table or floor, run away, spill something, or yell and scream.

I think I'm due.  I think we are due.

Maybe this is what 11.5 years of marriage just looks like.  It's that passing in the garage or in the hallway as we run children and errands and church callings around our lives and home and neighborhood.  It's being busy, feeding hungry boys, and taking care of our responsibilities.  It's trying to spend time with the people that we love.  It's great and exhausting at the same time. 

I'm always a teeny bit envious of the people I see and know who constantly ditch their kids and go on vacations alone and take and post dozens of selfies on social media of themselves on beaches and hotel balconies.  But maybe I'm just envious of the pictures because there are no other people in the world I'd like to spend time with than my husband and my children.  Or maybe, I just want to go on vacation and have someone else make my bed and fix me food for a change.

Yeah, that might be it.

A selfie for five on a beach, please.