Otto and I have a quaint little Monday morning routine, and it goes like this: My alarm goes off, and I commence slapping my clock in sleepy annoyance, and Otto says, “Why does Monday morning always come so EARLY?” I grunt in response, and thus our love carries us through another week.
Oh, wait. Actually it’s COFFEE that carries us through another week. That charming exchange we have every Monday morning is just that precious little reminder that when you truly love someone, you forgive them for trying to have a conversation with you before you’ve had your coffee. And then you pack a lunch for your beloved and you don’t spit in it or anything. Because TRUE LOVE.
I think the problem is that every week, we have this idea that the weekend is going to be relaxing, and then every weekend we think OOH! AAH! NO WORK! Now we can do OTHER STUFF! And then the “other stuff” ends up being just as tiring as work, and/or we stay up late, forgetting that we are old and require a lot of sleep.
Let me just grab another cup of coffee and tell you all about the weekend.
I like to believe that the weekend starts promptly at 5:00 on Friday, which is hilarious under any circumstances, really, because since when has that happened? During football season Friday afternoons are a hot mess, anyway, because there’s the whole negotiating either of getting Chickadee home and fed and back to school for band, or she doesn’t come home at all and most likely, one or both of us parental types have to get to the game either to work or to spectate.
Well. Otto enjoys chaperoning away games, mostly because the look of abject terror on Chickie’s face when he threatens to ride on her bus (THE HORROR) is priceless, but I would rather pull out my fingernails one by one rather than ride a bus full of high schoolers out of town, so I of course signed up to work concessions again. (Remember how great that went the first time?) This past Friday was my first stint this year, and may I just say, it was considerably less overwhelming than I remembered. This was partially because I kind of knew what I was doing, and partially because I guess it wasn’t a very well-attended game, and so we weren’t nearly as busy as we’d been on that baptism-by-fire night so long ago. But because I’d waited an entire month to begin volunteering, guilt dictated that I arrive at 4:00 to help do prep for a 7:30 game, which meant that I worked in the concession stand from 4:00 until about 10:30, when the game ended.
On a regular day, I work from about 7:30 – 4:30 or so, here at home. At my desk. SITTING DOWN. On Friday I worked from about 7:30 – 3:00, then went and stood on concrete and served food to a bunch of sweaty, hungry people for hours on end, and by the time I stumbled out of there I had a vague sense that maybe I’m just a little out of shape, or something. I called Otto to ask if he was still around, and he said no, he’d left early. I offered to stay and grab Chickadee, which (I didn’t realize) meant I had to wait for the band to come marching back to the band room, then once they got back they had to dance around for a while (dorks, all of them; adorable dorks) shouting the school’s name before they changed out of their uniforms.
I think we finally left around 11:00. Chickie was all pumped up on adrenaline, but I was barely able to walk from the car into the house, and I made a mental note that having had a protein bar and a pack of Skittles for dinner may not have been my best choice.
I slept in on Saturday and figured that SURELY recuperation was imminent. But! Those pesky CHILDREN! They seem to require interaction, or something, even when it’s supposed to be a day of relaxation. So unfair. Chickadee had a party she wanted to go to that night, which of course meant that Mean Mom gave her a to-do list to complete in order to attend said party. (There was much huffing and complaining. Geez, what’s so hard about shelling all the peas, Chickie-ella?) And then Monkey wanted to have some friends over, too, so we had double the normal number of children.
At this point I need to tell you that my father completely ruined me the last time my folks were here visiting. You see, Dad’s firm got him an iPhone a while back, which is hilarious because he is mostly technology-impaired and can barely use it. Every now and then I text him just because I know it confuses him. Anyway. He’s apparently advanced enough in his phone usage that he’s managed to download a few games, and while they were here he showed me that he often plays Word Jewels on it. “You should get it,” he said. “You’d like it.”
I downloaded it but hardly ever played it. I don’t really play games on my phone too much. But it turned out that after BlogHer I won an iPad Mini from Yappem, and I don’t know why I’m so much more likely to play games on it—maybe because the screen is larger, maybe because it feels like a toy to me—but now all I want to do is sit on the couch and play Word Jewels. And it’s all my father’s fault. (Note to Dad: You get a lot of points for INDECENTLY, I discovered.)
I tried very hard to relax on the couch and play Word Jewels for the bulk of Saturday, inbetween hassling children and watching football and stuff. This should’ve been relaxing. I’m not sure why it wasn’t.
On Sunday apparently Otto decided we needed to “get stuff done” because we had “wasted Saturday” or something. Whatever. He did about ten hours of yard work (I was a huge help) (and by “huge help” I of course mean when he came inside all covered in grime I said “don’t touch me”) and then I joined him outside and we closed the pool while Otto grumbled about how we hardly swam this summer. I pointed out that NEXT summer we won’t 1) have to replace the liner or 2) have 40 consecutive days and nights of torrential rain.
We got the cover on in record time (we’re getting better at it!) and then spent some quality time trying to convince the dog to walk across it. This pool cover can supposedly support a small car being parked on it (okay, that one we haven’t tried), so it can certainly hold Licorice, but a large pit of water suddenly becoming a solid surface is beyond her walnut-brain’s ability to process, I think.
Once everything was done, we sat on our bench swing and rested and admired our handiwork. “You know what we need to do NEXT year,” I said to Otto. “Get some more gravel for in here.” (Because hauling rocks for a weekend was so much fun the first time.) Otto gave me A Look. I wish I’d had a camera.
I gave the menfolk haircuts out on the deck, after that, while Chickadee helpfully critiqued my work. Apparently she feels her brother needs a different sort of hairstyle…? Given the level of care and attention he currently gives his hair (none) I think he’s lucky I don’t just shave him bald, but I don’t know, she had opinions and stuff. He, for the most part, just wanted me to finish up because IT’S ITCHY and YOU’RE TAKING SO LONG and I DON’T CARE IF IT’S EVEN.
The gratitude is touching, is it not?
Otto was a lot more cooperative for his cut, plus he cleaned up all the hair, afterward, so he gets to be my favorite client.
Last night we blew off cooking and took the kids out to dinner, then watched some television after they went to sleep and were in bed early, ourselves. So WHY were we both so tired this morning? Hmph.