Friday, May 28, 2010

Top Ten Things That Make Memorial Day Weekend Not Really a Weekend

10. The same children who can't be dragged out of bed in order to be at school at 8:15 are up and ready to play at 5:43 am on the weekend.  And silly mommy, you thought having that extra glass of wine with your husband and staying up an hour later was such a good idea.  It doesn't seem like a good idea when you're breaking up fights over what cartoon to watch and changing a poopers before 6 am.  Welcome to Saturday.

9. Get a shower and have breakfast on the table by 7am because there's soccer at 8...and 10...and 11:45, 2, and 5:30. Yeah, that's how I want to spend my Saturday. Hot field, kids running aimlessly, coaches yelling things like "Randolph! You take, touch, pitch and run!"  What. Does. That. Even. Mean? Super comfy bleacher seats for 27 hours straight -- thank you, my ass now has rivets. And then the all powerful Soccer Mom on the other side of the field, watching her Angel "play" (translation: running around aimlessly, actually touching the ball, and then looking at the coach like "What?! You said 'touch'! [under breath] Douche.") and Mom is busy eating egg salad, rearranging juice boxes and yelling things like "go kick!' and "play soccer!" So I start yelling friendly reminders too...things like "breathe!" I'm pretty sure Coach doesn't need me to come back. Ever.


8. You get to make three full meals a day for every single person in your house.  A big eggy breakfast is sort of a tradition in our family.  Yummmm...  But three hours later comes lunch.  And three hours after that comes snack.  And three hours after that comes dinner.  Clean/cook/eat/clean/repeat.  By Sunday night, the dishwasher is going: "WTF?! Can you people not eat a single meal out of the house?  I've been running non-stop for 48 hours and my ass is tired." 

Well said, dishwasher, in that we are alike.

7.  Errands are the enemy of the suburban weekend.  Especially those that I like to call "sneaky husband errands".  These are things like getting the oil changed, something about tires being rotated or going to Home Depot.  Things that should take an hour but end up taking the entire afternoon.  I do not doubt the validity of such errands.  I just doubt that it takes three hours to accomplish them.  I also doubt the assertion that they could not possibly be accomplished with a child or three in tow.  I do nothing without at least one kid with me.  This includes going to the gynecologist.  So I'm pretty sure you can get a damn haircut with some company.  I am on my own with the little boogers all week, while I drive them places and wash their clothes and feed them and read them stories and they are cursing my name and dreaming of time alone with their daddy.  I say give it to them - at Home Depot - while I bask in my bi-annual hour of alone time.  It's just a guess, but I reckon that if kids were required to accompany their fathers on "sneaky husband errands" Daddy would be home from Jiffy Lube in less than an hour.

6.  The pool opens this weekend.  I am equal parts elated and defeated.  I love the pool.  I just hate the fact that it requires two and a half hours of preparation, three bags and a cooler, a half gallon of sun block and a backseat full of foam toys (that I will have to carry and no one will actually play with) to get there.  Twenty minutes after arriving someone will have to take a schmidt and I will have to argue why shoes are required for the bathroom at the pool because swimming in the pool is not technically considered "washing". *Me gagging.*  Then it will either rain or the ice cream man will come.  In either case, there will be crying. 

5. Catch up. All the sh*t you didn't get done all week, like the dry cleaners and the vet and the grocery store for that ONE thing you forgot and the post office and the bank -- which close at noon, so you have to get your ass in gear otherwise you're standing in front of a locked door cursing the Randy. Why him? Because you were at home...catching up on the mur.thur.fur.kin laundry.

4.Oh, and don't forget about Quality Time. You know, when your family pretends you've been transported into a Norman Rockwell painting. And you spend all this frickin' energy trying to take something stupid and turn it into something fun for the family to do fortheloveofpete, can't anybody appreciate that?! Damn! I'm trying to make some %*#(@*#_% memories here!

3. The mandatory barbecue.  You're screwed no matter what. If its at your house - why are you reading this blog?  You don't have time, honey.  Vacuum.  De-clutter.  You should be cleaning the guest bathroom and peeling potatoes right now.  They're coming and they probably won't help you clean up either.  If it's at someone else's house - either you or your husband will have to spend the entire time monitoring your kids, silently resentful that your spouse is getting to actually have grown up time. 

The worst is that usually, it's not just your kids that you end up watching but the hell-spawn of the Jackhole family.  You know the Jackholes, right?  Who show up at a party and release their rabid, ill-behaved monsters offspring and then never check on them again until they're ready to go home.  Who do they suppose is watching their children while they chat and drink beer and enjoy themselves?  Jesus?  To my knowledge, Jesus is not at this barbecue.  He was invited but he's busy.  And if he does show up it is not for the purpose of babysitting your kids and keeping them from drawing on the walls with a sharpie, pounding on each other and ordering inappropriate pay-per-view.  Apparently that's my job.  I love barbecues.  Grrrr....

*The Jackholes are the same ones who bring their kids to the playground and vapidly watch their kids throw mulch into my four year olds eyes and do nothing.
2. And there's the Sunday Night Stupor.  You sit down on the couch at 9:30 pm Sunday night for the first time since school got out on Friday and sink into a catatonic state.  And you wind up sitting there  with a glass of wine in your hand watching an episode of  "Law & Order" on TNT for the 87th time because you just can't get off the couch.  Your conversations with your spouse consist of grunts, nods and cave paintings.  The only thing that can pry your keister off the couch is the idea of quickly replanting in the bed.  Because tomorrow morning it starts all over again...

1. Oh, what? Monday is a holiday? You mean, a holiday for you. For me, it just means one more day when you're up in my sh*t, asking for food, making a mess, and generally just in my house when you should  be at school or at work. The species Exhaustus Maternus is the only known species to actually like Mondays...as it is the day she gets to recover from her "week end" whatever that is. Having a holiday on a Monday merely serves to extend that "week end" and increase said workload on Tuesday by 33%. So, thanks government. And school systems. Clearly you all aren't moms. You're douches.

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