… the kids and I played “if we don’t start cleaning this place up, Mama’s head is going to explode.”
I’d say that for a Sunday, today was a total success.
We got up, we ate, we went to church. Where there was a VBS “demonstration,” which involved any teachers and willing children who’d attended this past week’s festivities going up front to sing along on some VBS songs with the band. So I sent Chickadee up with the other kids (no point in trying to tear Monkey away from his coloring), and she came back to me a verse later. She didn’t want to sing alone. (The other twenty people up there weren’t cutting the mustard, I guess.) So I went up with her, and we sang and did the required motions to each song. I am so very pleased that I wore a nice shirt and a skirt and my sexy sandals (okay, maybe I should not have been wearing my sexy sandals to church, anyway) to stand in front of the congregation with my arms in the air going “na na na na na na! na na na na na na!”
We came home and had lunch, and then realized that the tidiness situation at Casa Mir had reached Code Red. I set the kids to work on the playroom and family room with the gentle reminder that anything that was still on the floor after the allotted time was going to be vacuumed up. It’s amazing how motivated even the laziest child can become, upon hearing that. So! We tidied, I vacuumed the entire lower floor; I considered vacuuming upstairs (because I was feeling pretty good) and then decided I’d better not push it. I brought the vacuum up to remind myself to vacuum the top floor tomorrow. I did dishes and cleaned the kitchen.
Then the kids wanted to play outside. I let them out, only to watch them disappear in the tall grass. Hrm. Okay, I feel alright, I should try mowing. So I mowed most of the lawn. (When the kids lost interest in taking every single toy out of the garage and leaving it in the driveway for me to kill myself on, I called it good and went back inside with them.) After a rest and a snack I still felt okay, so I cleaned the bathrooms. Then after dinner Chickadee and I cleaned her room (which had become frightening) and sorted her miscellaneous belongings into the new storage cart I’d bought her at–where else?–Target.
This is the best I’ve felt since my surgery and the cleanest the house has been since I was left to fend for myself. Yay!
But… you knew there was a but, right? There always is, with me. And that goes double for Sunday nights. *sigh*
I had The Talk with the ex about Chickadee’s meltdown last night, and he was appropriately concerned and apologetic, I guess. But he was still very reluctant to talk to me at all about Inga (at least I have a name confirmation now), saying, “You’ll just have to trust my judgement.” To which I snarkily replied, “Oh, like you trusted my judgement the night you called me up screaming because there was a car in my driveway?” He did admit that this is a “serious” relationship, and that probably he handled the meeting badly. Chickadee spoke with him for a while and I heard her sounding not very happy… I overheard “Well I’m not used to her, Daddy, and you’re just gonna have to give me a little time to be!” and I was very proud of her. But after the phone call I pulled her onto my lap and asked her if she felt better, now that she and Daddy had talked about Inga, and she replied, “I don’t want to talk about her any more” and stomped off.
That wasn’t really the tidy resolution for which I’d been hoping.
Setting aside my concern on my daughter’s behalf, now that it’s Sunday night and I have precious little left to clean and I can no longer direct my ire at Excellent Purchase (my television has a really nice crisp picture, by the way), I’m left with my own baggage. And as shallow and whiney as I know it is, I am stunned to hear that my ex is in a “serious” relationship while I’m still single. I’m not jealous in the sense that I want to have him, but certainly jealous in that I wish I had someone.
That would elevate my Dumbass status to Loser Dumbass, by the way. Just in case you’re keeping score.
I know that when the time is right I will meet someone. But in case you hadn’t noticed, patience is not my forte. But grudge-holding? I’m great at that! And while the conscious part of my brain says “Good for him, I hope they’ll be happy” there’s a darker corner that whispers “Um, isn’t he the guy who blew up your life, kinda repeatedly? He doesn’t deserve happiness. Especially not before me!”
I need a bigger nametag. I think I just went from Loser Dumbass to Bitter Loser Dumbass.
The nice thing about the kind of woulda-coulda-shoulda Sunday nights that I have, is that I am probably the only person I know who looks forward to Monday morning.