June 4, 2007 by Marj Hatzell
Weekends are difficult at best in Chez DG. In a house full of routine-oriented people (and dog) a well-kept schedule is our best friend. Unfortunately, nothing goes according to plan. DG gets upset. Bug Boys becomes agitated. Bugaboo goes completely nuts. Darling hides in the garage for hours. Shadow refuses to go outside. Then DG gets more upset. Then Bug Boy becomes even more agitated. Then Bugaboo goes completely bonkers and starts running out of the house. Naked. With a sweater on. In eighty-eight degree weather. Then Darling fabricates an excuse to visit his favorite Home Improvement Store and then DG loses it. Shadow refuses to come inside. And on, and on, and so it goes, and so it came to pass, and so it was.
Darling is the only one in the house that can fly by the seat of his pants without going into hysterics. He works best with a schedule or list, as he will just keep going, and going and going (Energizer Bunny-like) until I am in a screaming rage and hyperventilating. Then he springs into action, swooping in like a super hero, rescuing me and the children, giving baths, reading stories, rough-housing in the Family Room. If I work out a list with him on Saturday mornings at breakfast it works out for the best. I make sure my chores and his chores are on there. If there are more than four things for each of us on the list we mark off what can be done on Saturday and what could be completed Sunday afternoons. If the laundry needs doing I know the laundry fairy will get bored while I am at church and will make sure two-to-three loads get put through in the two hours I am away. Don’t you all wish you had a laundry fairy? And a dishes fairy? I don’t mind the bathroom, I don’t need a fairy there. But dishes? Loathe them. Despise them. Cannot stand to do them, I do not like touching garbage. Chalk it up to the bad sensory stuff, the smell is enough to gag me…
So, if we are off schedule one iota on the weekends, come Sunday night I am in shut-down mode. I reserve Sunday nights for myself. Darling takes the kids for the afternoon, I take a nap, we do dinner, he bathes and dresses them, he packs the lunches and ensures they are in bed before eight o’clock, the time that I park my ever-rounding arse on the couch and stare at the idiot box for a full hour. And I mean it, do not interrupt DG while she watches EMHE. Unless you want your head bitten off and your ears to be boxed. This is the only night I have time to sit and do NOTHING AT ALL. Darling always brings me loads of laundry to fold while I sit there. I do not fold them. If he wants to fold while he watches Napcar, that is fine by me. But when I am taking a break, I am TAKING A BREAK. I may file my feet and give myself a mini-pedi while I sit there. Generally I just kick the recliner back and zombie out.
So why so happy for Mondays? The routines. If we do our evening routines the night before I can get up, get everyone dressed and fed (because I have planned breakfast and have clothes out the night before), hand them their bags as they run out the door (because I have packed lunches and schoolbags the night before) and then sit and enjoy my cup of tea for a half hour before Little Miss arrives for the morning. Peace and quiet has returned. The boys are back to their comfy schedules. Even Darling is (sort of) happy to go back to work. I don’t mean to mislead you and make you think that our weekends are turbulent and stressful. It is just that they can only take about two days before everyone (including me) goes off the deep end because of the lack of routine. If my children could go to school 365 days a year, they would. I miss them when they are gone and appreciate the time with them on the weekends (and the time away from them, thanks to Darling) but time off is difficult for them. In two weeks, read a post or two here. You will see what I mean. Bug Boy has a week off before going to the town day camp. Bugaboo has THREE WEEKS OFF, folks. Check in with me then, you will see! I will no doubt be rocking in a corner, chewing my nails down to stubs and humming to myself.