Just plain weekend.

I have to admit, I sometimes feel that everyone is having a better weekend than I am.  So I documented my weekend and realized that they probably are.  But that’s okay, because mine wasn’t half bad. Here it is:

Go to the farmer’s market with your six-year-old. It is so nice to go with someone who doesn’t have any time constraints or an agenda. Kid Sensation was cool to wander with me, sample food, be the only one dancing to the live band, and tip the violinist. Although, apparently balloon animals are okay, but the prospect of getting paint on his face on purpose is terrifying and definitely not okay.

Throw the football with with your twelve year old. Ask him what him and his friends talk about at school. When you suggest boobs, he will emphatically tell you not boobs. Which probably means boobs. You will also find out that his friend, Optimus Prime is a serial dater but that The Destroyer has incredibly high standards for someone who still loses arguments to his six-year-old brother. And who smells like old hummus by the end of the day.

Go boot shopping with your ten-year-old. She will be picky. You will be impatient if you are the Big Man and feel like you should be at home watching football—but you promised. She will hug her Daddy and you will be caught smiling.

Fight with your six-year-old. He will have stayed up late to sneak-watch Frozen, so he won’t be on one, he’ll be on all of them. The final showdown will come at 1 p.m., right as you’ve arrived to your Sunday meeting, where he will melt down as you try to tuck his shirt in in an effort to avoid someone thinking you just brought some random homeless Ewok with you. (He also needs a haircut.) You decide it’s time to go nuclear and call in the Big Man. Kid Sensation is taken out for a few minutes, comes back tearstained and chastened, and instantly falls asleep.


Have cramps and be cranky and mean.

Eat chips and dip. Feel better. Have a mimosa. Feel even better.

Have your kids make dinner under your direction. Wonder if The Destroyer’s spaghetti is better than yours. No one says it isn’t. Have hurt feelings.

Watch Peyton Manning break Brett Favre’s record. Realize again how cool it is watching history being made with kids.

Pray and be thankful for everything and everyone you have.


Is this Hades? Nope. Just Summer Vacation.

It’s the first day of summer vacation. Three hours in. I have been cleaning and threatening non-stop. I have a headache and I already want a glass of wine. If there is anything that could lead to morning drinking, it’s being a stay-at-home mom during summer vacation.

I have read all kinds of articles and blog posts about what to do with your kids during vacation time. Sadly, none of them include dropping them off at the Humane Society and pretending that they are strays. Summer camp is out of our price range. Which is just as well, because I am positive that we would be called to pick Wondergirl up after the first day, the counselors insisting that we pick her up by the side of the road while they and all the other kids cower in their bunks.

So what is summer vacation actually like for me?

9:00ish- Wake up. Think “Oh, yeah. The kids are still here. Maybe if I lie here still for long enough, they’ll think I’m dead.” Hear a crash and yelling. Have to get up.

9:15 – Head downstairs. See the kitchen a mess. Contemplate going back upstairs to try playing dead again.

10:00 – Scream and threaten everyone into cleaning up.

11:00 – Click my heels three times and wish for a nanny. Doesn’t work.  Kid Sensation has a meltdown about trying not to have a meltdown.

12:00 – Explain for the umpteenth time that there is pretty much only one option for lunch and I am not cooking lunch just because they’re here. This ain’t no diner, and PBJ is good enough for people who don’t pay bills.

12:15, 12:45, 1:00, 1:05, 1:20, 1:45 – Break up fights.  All of them involve Wondergirl.

2:00 – Hand out snacks. This is to keep The Destroyer from parking in front of the fridge and eating everything out of it. He is a bottomless pit. However, unlike his mother, he is a bottomless pit that remains thin and muscular. Boooooo.

3:00 – THANK GOD. We don’t have cable anymore, so we have to wait around for PBS kids to come on. Now everyone can shut up for an hour or two while I count down to five o’clock. What happens at five?

5:00 – WINE TIME!!!!! Yes indeedy, ladies and gentlemen, at 5:00:01 there is a glass of Riesling in my hand. Not in a regular sized glass, either. It’s one of the giant-sized Pier 1 tumblers-on-a-stem all the way. Besides, after half of this glass, I can act like I am happy to see the Big Man after he left me here all day alone with Wakko, Yakko, and Dot.

Image from simulated people.com
Actual photo of my kids.

7:00 – I like late dinner. That way everyone can eat, bathe, and get out of my face by 9:00. But first, scream and threaten everyone into cleaning up.

9:00 – The Big Man and I pretend that we still have the energy to be romantic. The goal of the game is to see who can maintain the farce the longest. We both lose. The Big man falls asleep and I stare at the TV trying to make something good appear. Or at least Benedict Cumberbatch.

These are just my average days. Sometimes we break up the routine, we go to the library, the park, the zoo, etc. I mean, I do put in the effort to parent at least once a week. That way, when they talk to their therapists, they’ll have something good to say.


Image courtesy of simulatedpeople.com