Following up on the “I Hate Weekends” post from a few days ago. A lot of very sweet people invited us places, which wasn’t my intent when writing the post but was no less appreciated. Thank you. :-)
I know you’re on the edge of your seat, barely breathing, wondering what we did and if I hate weekends less (I don’t) so I’m going to give you every filthy detail. Just kidding on both fronts, but I’ll give you the highlights.
Here’s a brief synopsis:
Saturday was awesome; Sunday was not.
And now the highlights, because I know you want them.
Saturday: Niko went to a birthday party at Legoland, and Zoë and I had a lady date. We had SO MUCH FUN. We went to a super shady (and cheap) nail salon and painted our fingers and toes, and all the ladies loved Zoë because she’s adorable and she giggled when her feet were being buffed, and they loved that we were wearing matching red lipstick. Apparently we’re an entertaining duo.
Life is just better with red lipstick.
All day, Zoë kept saying “thank you” and “I love you,” and we snuggled together and giggled and talked about makeup and boys, and I just enjoyed her so much. What an awesome day. Seriously, I didn’t want our time to end. My heart was so full. At the end of the day we picked up Niko from his party and spent the rest of the night and overnight at my girlfriend’s house. It was perfect.
Sunday: It started happily enough. Good coffee was had by all. I got to lie around all lazy-like with my friend while the kids played, we watched Mad Men, drank more coffee, all was well. We came home around noon, and when we walked in the door the all-too-familiar feeling of being alone and in charge completely overcame me. To be overly dramatic, it was like being stranded in the desert, having to find my way out while having fun along the way.
The horror. (I suck.)
As much as I hate weekends – and really I think it’s Sundays, who knows why – normally I’m not disabled by them. But yesterday I was. I didn’t want to ruin the kids’ day by being That Cranky Mom, so I had the brilliant idea to take a nap. Because…whatever, naps kill time, and I’d spent the night before in a queen-sized bed with Zoë + Niko + Dottie, so maybe I was just tired? Maybe. (Or maybe I suck.)
Anyway, I set a timer for 90 minutes – because that’s the magic number for naps, so I’ve read – excused myself and gave the kids free reign of the house, so long as they didn’t eat anything. Choking, you know.
Twenty minutes later, I’m almost sleeping but not really, and Zoë opens the door and sneaks in: “Mommy? Sorry to bother you, but there’s a marching band outside.”
So I got up, we went outside, and behold, and the Holy Mother was being carried down the street right below our window in a grand procession with (duh) a marching band.
Good. We saw, we waved, we got a video, and there was still over an hour left in the allotted nap time. I gave hugs, I gave kisses, and I went back to my room. And then the cannon fire started.
It might be helpful to mention that we live down the street from the San Diego Maritime Museum, and sometimes on weekends they shoot cannons from the tall ships. I’m not exaggerating when I say it sounded like they were simulating battle. Niko came running into my room – “GUNS!! BIG GUNS!!! LET’S GO SEE!”
To say the least, the nap was thwarted, and the rest of the day crawled by at a s.n.a.i.l.’s p.a.c.e but did end up getting better, as I had a private pep talk with the self about pulling my shit together because WHO CARES if you’re by yourself??? Well, I do from time to time, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, but there are some things you just have to get over…like Sundays.
So to answer your not-question, I don’t hate weekends anymore. I only hate Sundays. That’s okay, no?
**Now that Sunday is over, I don’t think I suck anymore. Does anyone else out there struggle with the holy day? Please tell me I’m not the only one.