A handy guide to Fun and Hilarity for your weekend, if you happen to be me and have lofty plans of how supergreat your weekend is going to be in spite of the fact that you neglect to actually plan it out in any way, shape or form.
If you are a beginner, don’t attempt all of these options in a single weekend. Pace yourself! But if you’re me, you can indeed find a way to cram all of these events into a single two-day stretch. People, I’m a professional.
Without further ado, things to do on the weekend:
1) Nothing. Doing nothing isn’t as easy as it sounds, because rarely does one truly do absolutely nothing. The Mir-version of nothing involves parking on the couch with a lot of snacks and an entire season of America’s Next Top Model while one’s husband and children are away. A sleepy dog in your lap is optional but quite nice.
2) Make more strawberry things. Because, you see, picking two gallons of strawberries has consequences. Like, all those berries have to be hulled. And made into things. And eaten. Or frozen. Or something. So hull away, and eat some, and freeze some, and bake a whole bunch of stuff. Let the children have strawberry cream cheese coffee cake for breakfast before the return to school on Monday and encourage them to tell you how great you are.
3) Vow to Clean All The Things. Notice this isn’t ACTUAL cleaning, just a plan to clean. (That means you can make this plan while watching ANTM and eating strawberries. Yay!) Plans are good. Plans make you feel productive!
4) Clean Some Of The Things. Clean bathrooms, for example, because yeesh. Clean the kitchen. Vacuum up some dust bunnies. Do some laundry. State unequivocally that you are absolutely, positively, certainly for sure going to clean your desk finally because it’s becoming a fire hazard.
5) Don’t clean your desk. Oh, come on. It’s not going anywhere. Besides, cleaning the bathrooms tired you out.
6) Receive the landscaping estimate your husband insisted you get. Getting the estimate itself is a passive activity, of course, but hopefully you’re well-rested for the hysterical laughter that will be necessary to process the many buckets of dollars the smarmy “well, talk it over with your husband” landscaper is requesting for the super-complicated job of killing some weeds and spreading some gravel.
7) Decide you don’t need no stinkin’ landscaper, spend half a day tearing out weeds, chopping down bushes, and otherwise bonding as a couple in the great outdoors. You can divvy this up however you like, of course, but because my husband is a lot stronger than me and also impervious to pollen—whereas I am small and weak and a mess of seasonal allergies—I like to compliment Otto profusely on what a GOOD JOB he is doing in the yard while getting ready to join him verrrrry sloooowwwwly. Once outside, I can usually muster the enthusiasm to tackle cleaning out my vegetable boxes—because you know how happy growing food makes me—but by the time I’ve handled those I am a mess of flowing snot and blooming hives. This generally results in Otto being overcome by my sexiness and suggesting I go inside before everyone else notices. Then I get to go take a bunch of Benadryl and a shower while he finishes everything else.
8) Make husband take you out for a late lunch of tacos and margaritas. Hey, you worked hard. See also: nom nom.
9) Go to the garden store for supplies. Spend hundreds of dollars on exciting things like landscaping mesh and new zucchini seeds. Realize that the combination of Benadryl and tequila is… kind of potent. Woo! Potting soil, yay! Hey, LET’S GROW EGGPLANT THIS YEAR!
10) Research pea gravel. Giggle every time you read or say “pea gravel,” because you are a 10-year-old boy on the inside, and also because it’s a handy diversion from the fact that apparently your husband has decided to order fourteen tons of the stuff and have it dumped in the driveway so that the whole family can spend the NEXT weekend shoveling, spreading, and otherwise enjoying said pea gravel. (Heehee… pea gravel.)
11) Finish weaning off your anti-depressants because life is no longer stressful. AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA! What? Oh, sorry. Hang on a sec.
11a) Wait for concerned phone call from your mother now that you told the Internet you are no longer taking anti-depressants.
11b) Finish explaining to the Internet that your experience with medication is that it wanes in efficacy over time, and periodic breaks are useful. The last time I went on medication, the intention was to go off it somewhere in the January-February timeframe. That (obviously) didn’t happen, because we went into crisis mode and even I am not dumb enough to try to get through something like that on willpower alone. Things are better now and the days are longer and the dog and I take walks and soon I will spend lots of time outside talking to my plants, and all of those things mean that I can go medication-free for a while. This is good, because as grateful as I am for the help with my stubborn brain chemistry when I need it, I also appreciate not feeling tired and somewhat flat and somewhat fat (hey, those rhyme), too.
12) Have a family meeting about chores. Discuss a master Chore Chart. Propose to the children that various chores will rotate every week unless they agree otherwise. Watch in amazement as they easily and happily work out a trade-off schedule with each other based upon their various preferences. Wonder where YOUR children are and who THESE kids are. Glance around furtively for hidden cameras.
13) Go over schedule for the coming week. Feel slightly overwhelmed. Wonder why you didn’t clean your desk. Wonder if it wasn’t such a good time to go off your meds, after all. Eat some strawberries. Pat the dog. Snuggle with husband. Realize it’s all fine. End your list on number 13, because that’s your favorite number.