I always find myself looking forward to the weekend with a fervor that borders on religious, particularly by Thursday or Friday. It’s going to be SO NICE, I think, and I will SLEEP LATE and RELAX and RECHARGE. And then Monday rolls around and I am just as exhausted and cranky as usual. It seems unfair.
[Side note: I did finally make an appointment to see my doctor, on account of recent life stressors do seem to be taking a slight toll on my health, possibly. Weird, right? I mean, who knew that constant months of high stress might make you less than perfectly healthy or something? So I called my doctor in August to mention that hey, um, my hair is falling out, among other things. (Good thing I have a LOT of hair, even in its currently shorn state.) They gave me an appointment in October. I'm hoping to not be completely bald or, you know, DEAD by then.]
Anyway. The weekend. We spent most of Saturday with Chickie, which was lovely, and involved a lot of eating, seems like. (Hey, that Buy One Blizzard Get One For $.99 special at Dairy Queen is not going to EAT ITSELF, man.) (I know; when we take her out of the hospital for the day I always want to feed her something healthy, but then ice cream is the language of love, right? So healthy lunch, ice cream later. It’s a compromise. Sort of.)
We ran some errands and the children marveled over the fact that their feet are now the same size while we tried to find a pair of clearance sandals for Monkey Bigfoot. At one point Monkey insisted that we were not allowed to call him Flipper Foot (as we had his sister when she had her foot growth spurt that he’s having now) because 1) that’s HER name and 2) his feet are far too skinny to be flippers. So we settled on Ski Foot, which delighted him and somewhat confused the rest of us. Though he has a point—his feet are kind of long and skinny. Maybe it’s just the fact that none of us ski, or that trying to picture Monkey skiing just makes me laugh and laugh.
Saturday night we came back home and watched Being Elmo, which was pretty much the warmest, fuzziest, feel-good-iest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Go watch it with your children RIGHT NOW. Monkey scoffed when I suggested it (he’s far too old for Elmo, dontchaknow) but even he really enjoyed it.
On Sunday we had a Hippie School potluck to go to, so while Otto did Manly Outdoor Things (I tell him all the time that I married him for his big… throbbing… LAWNMOWER) Monkey and I made a batch of zucchini brownies. Actually, Monkey made them. I just assisted. And he was FILLED WITH GLEE because 1) BROWNIES! and 2) he spent half the day concocting various plans on how he would tell people they had ZUCCHINI in them… or he would NOT tell them! Or we could make a sign, but then switch it with NORMAL brownies and TRICK people!
I tell you what: that kid makes his own entertainment.
So we went to the potluck, and as I’ve mentioned before, this year Hippie School has a LOT more kids. Between the increased enrollment and the fact that Monkey only goes three days a week, there’s plenty of kids and parents I hadn’t even met before. And of course it’s always entertaining to watch Monkey navigate amongst this group, where he pretty much has the most friends he’s ever had in his life.
Otto and I hung back, watching him flit from here to there, perfectly at ease in a way he never would’ve been just a year ago, and then Marmoset’s family showed up.
Monkey talks about Marmoset a lot, which was already interesting because Marmoset is multiple years younger than Monkey, and my darling son is prone to doing things like referring to the younger kids at school as “annoying midgets.” But “Marmoset is REALLY SMART for a kid his age” and “Marmoset knows a TON of stuff about Minecraft” and “Marmoset and I are working on a D&D campaign” and basically, by the time I met Marmoset, I was expecting him to float on air and have a glass dome where his head should be, containing a glowing, pulsing brain sort of like some sort of science fiction overlord.
But no, Marmoset turns out to be a skinny little kid who pretty much looks like Monkey did at his age. And as soon as his family arrived, the boys sat down and started discussing Minecraft, and I found myself chatting with Marmoset’s parents. They wanted to tell me all about how Marmoset just LOVES Monkey and talks about him ALL THE TIME, how whatever Monkey does, Marmoset wants to do, too. Marmoset is a homeschooled only child, and has never run the public school gauntlet—which means he’s not been diagnosed with anything, because without society trying to stuff him into a particular box for eight hours a day, there’s been no reason to bother with any of that—but if I had to guess… yeeeeeeah… I’d have to say my Aspie-meter pings pretty high with this kid. Needless to say, I adored him immediately.
I finally interrupted the boys to suggest they go RUN and PLAY and ENJOY THE GREAT OUTDOORS, so they got right up from where they were sitting and headed off to the playground. Of course once they got there, they sat right back down underneath the play structure and resumed their discussion. Heh.
Meanwhile Otto and I found ourselves all but grabbing Marmoset’s parents and declaring that we would love them and hug them and call them George, because after we all fumbled through the initial getting-to-know-you stuff and the usual “well we didn’t want a program based on religion… not that there’s anything wrong with that!” sorts of things as we felt out each others’ proclivities, it became clear that THESE WERE OUR PEOPLE. Marmoset’s mom made some comment about how she’s always sticking her foot in her mouth and I was all “OH PLEASE COME SIT WITH ME, SISTER.” They were just completely awesome, so of course it turns out that we drive to Hippie School from one direction and they drive from another and we probably live an hour and a half away from each other.
Eventually it was time to go, and the boys came back around and Monkey crept up behind several people who were eating our brownies and shrieked “YOU’RE EATING ZUCCHINI! HAAAA!” and Marmoset found it hilarious. In other words, a grand time was had by all and it was kind of a bummer to leave.
Both Otto and Monkey are in desperate need of haircuts, so we headed home and I promised to cut their hair. Only… my kit is missing. I have the whole setup—clippers, scissors, a cape—and it’s just gone. We looked for it for a while but eventually I gave up and told Otto I was certain it would come to me in a flash of memory, where I’d put it. I mean, the house is not that big. It’s here SOMEWHERE. (It used to live up in the kids’ bathroom, but during the Remove All The Sharp Things From Easy Access phase we moved it into our room. I’ve cut the boys’ hair twice since then but somehow the kit went MIA since the last time. Puzzling.)
So: no haircuts. I am falling down on my wifely/motherly grooming duties.
But all was not lost in the hair department! I’d spent the day with a scarf tied around my head as a headband—because I’m currently in the grow-out phase where my hair must be contained in some way or small children become frightened—and while sitting on the couch and watching some TV before bed, I’d removed the scarf. What I didn’t realize until we turned off the set and headed in to the bedroom to get ready for bed was that the combination of removing the scarf and then resting my head back against the couch had made the entire front section of my hair stand straight up in the air.
I walked into the bathroom and caught sight of myself in the mirror and LOST IT. I looked exactly like Don King. My hands went up, reflexively, to try to smooth my hair down, but then I noticed Otto standing there, pausing mid-tooth-brushing to chuckle at me laughing at myself, so instead I just ran my hands through my hair backwards to make it stick up even MORE and fluttered my eyelashes at him. “I don’t know how you can keep your hands off of me,” I purred. “You know you want SOME OF THIS! I am a VISION!”
Poor guy nearly choked on his toothpaste. He couldn’t handle the hotness, obviously.
And now it’s Monday and I’m wondering 1) where the dang haircutting kit is hiding, 2) why I am just as tired as I was on Friday and 3) whether or not I should just embrace the Don King look and pretend I totally did it on purpose.