Two summers ago, I realized that I had five more summers with my oldest son, eight more summers with my youngest, before each headed off to college. As the clock was ticking, I entered a DEFCON level 1 desperation to spend more quality time with my boys. I wanted them to realize that I was (am!) fun and that they liked (loved!) spending time with me. The hope was that when they were grown ups and out of the house that they would remember these times and want to come visit me. Also, I hoped they’d remember the good times and think twice before putting me in the cheapest nursing home they could find! <\/p>\n\n\n\n
So, I instituted Friday Fundays (FF) for every other Friday. I would take a day off work and take my boys on a surprise adventure. Sounds great, right? As I lobbed this plan to them at dinner one night, it became clear that my boys would prefer to be with their friends, play video games, or basically do anything else than hang with old mom. Now it was Forced Fun Friday (FFF)! Because my kids would<\/em> spend time with me! And they would<\/em> have fun! Damn it<\/em>! <\/p>\n\n\n\n During our first outing, as we grilled kalbi at their first visit to a Korean BBQ, the boys griped when I told them the next surprise was karaoke. (I’m Asian, and I felt like it was a right of passage to be one with a mic!) As I saw their mopey faces, I hit a Clark Griswald level hysteria. This outing was fun, f*(%ing fun<\/em>! I was f*(%ing fun<\/em>! This is when the final F was added – F<\/span><\/strong>orced F<\/span><\/strong>*(%ing F<\/span><\/strong>un F<\/span><\/strong>riday (FFFF)!<\/p>\n\n\n\n