I had a pretty great Saturday. I got to go sans kids to a bridal shower and marvel at the youth and naivety of a young woman about to walk down the aisle. I’m not disparaging marriage at all. I love my husband and 95% of the time I even like him. I just enjoy seeing the sunny oh-so-in-love expressions and than compare it to future photos of that same person. It’s like you can mark the time from “he is wonderful” to “he doesn’t know that sometimes I stand over him while he’s sleeping with a pillow” phase. Maybe that’s just me though. We spent the day with the in-laws, got to deal with hurricane force winds, and had a family sit down dinner. It was really a pretty good Saturday. And than I woke up Sunday morning.
Oh Sundays. The day of rest. The day of reflection and relaxation. How I miss those days. Sundays with kids is like a Monday without having to make lunches or getting dressed. Saturdays are exciting because it’s the first day of the weekend. Sundays are exciting when you wake up till you realize that tomorrow is Monday.
This Sunday started off with me explaining to #7 that chocolate milk and doughnuts are not good for breakfast everyday. I mean, it should be, but I have to adult sometimes. Instead I made pancakes because pancakes are much better than sugar laced doughnuts. It should not count just because the kids drown them in syrup and butter and I spend 30 minutes cooking them for me to eat the last cold misshapen one, it’s still a more traditional breakfast than doughnuts. That’s what I kept telling myself anyway.
Than, S.O. kept napping on the couch. Not a big deal. He’s been working a lot of hours lately and it’s not like I don’t get to just nap on the couch when my shift is over. Oh, that’s right. My shift is never over. I am on perpetual overtime and my bosses are pretty shitty. They whine, argue, moan, drool, poop and never give me a raise. So, maybe I was a little irritated that every 5 minutes S.O. would snore loud enough to scare the kitty boys and the neighbors. And maybe I was getting just a little peeved that he originally wanted to go shopping and now it was coming up on early afternoon and if we don’t get out of the house before 1 p.m., it ain’t happening.
This would explain why when he finally roused himself from his slumber he immediately asked me, yep, the one who had slaved over breakfast (kinda), kept the kids at bay (sort of), and prevented #6 from choking out #7 for touching her Shopkins, why I had let him nap for so long when I knew he wanted to go shopping for garden supplies. Not a “thanks honey” or “hey, do you want to nap now” or even a “you really rock those yoga pants and slippers.” Nope.
So, I might have just over reacted a tad bit. I might have snapped at my beloved and told him that he could take his shopping expedition and shove it. I might have even thrown mismatched socks in his general direction when he asked me if I had sorted any clothes yet.
Here is my problem with Sundays. I set my expectations too high. I expect to wake up and stretch and to have bluebirds singing me a freaking song. I do not expect to wake up because #5 can’t find the toilet paper and #4 is hiding it from him. I expect it to be a lovely lazy day where we eat brunch and all hang out and do family things together. I just need to realize that Sundays at my house are more akin to a roadie crew trying to get Axl Rose on stage. On time and sober. As in, this is never going to happen.
Sunday ended on a better note. We made the trek to get gardening supplies even though the wind was still blowing harder than Monica Lewinsky and we are under a freeze warning. In April. S.O. only spent 2 hours looking at everything while I took 10 minutes to get exactly what I needed. But we got to do it together. We sort of watched a movie together at home although with toddlers a 2 hour movie turns into 4 hours with much pausing and rewinding and finally giving up. S.O. put the kids to bed for me so I could do schoolwork and I got to spend 45 minutes picking up the downstairs from all of our slothful activities.
Tomorrow is Monday. I will rush around making lunches and finding book bags. I will drink a gallon of sweet tea and attempt to conquer the bills. I will attempt to catch up on laundry. I may even organize the mudroom. I will miss you Sunday.