September 19, 2010 by Marj Hatzell
By the time Sunday afternoon hits I’m usually ready to walk out of my house and down the street and keep going. And walk to Hawaii. Which it turns out you cannot do because, see, there’s this ocean on the other side of California that kinda is in between here and Hawaii. And unless that fault line decides to do something MAJAH between now and a month from now (when I’d likely arrive in CA. I’m not Forrest Gump, yo) I’d need a boat. But I get sea sick. And I can’t fly because I puke big time on planes.
Where was I again?
See, I know part of it is my fault. I should do more during the week so that I can be more vigilant on the weekends. I should get more sleep. I should catch up on house work. That way, I could be prepared. You know, be better rested to deal with what’s being handed to me. So I don’t feel so stabby by Sunday nights, break down in tears and have so much trouble sleeping while I look forward to Monday mornings.
By this point on a Sunday evening Bugaboo is getting under my skin. He’s a whirling dervish and he can’t help the whirling and the twenty-four-hour vigilance and lack of being able to close the door when I pee kinda starts to get to me. Just a wee bit. Because I just love it when he has the trots and comes inside from a gorgeous nearly-fall day with it running down his legs and tracks it into the powder room and tries to wipe it up himself.
And Bug Boy has been whining at me all weekend or has been melting down or asking me for things over and over or yelling at one of the neighbors’ kids because they are breathing within a thirty foot perimeter of him or, gosh forbid, blinking because he can hear people blink, it turns out. Must be those autism super powers.
And the husband spends two days cramming in a week’s worth of honey-do stuff to make up for working such long hours. Except for when he spends all day cutting down a neighbor’s cherry tree (firewood!) that has long since passed on because he has been stalking them for months and finally asked me to ask them if he could cut it down, which they were only too happy to have him do since it meant they didn’t have to pay someone to do it. But wait! There’s more! He also spent two days running around to both major chain home improvement stores looking for chainsaws. And snow blowers (DO NOT ASK). And then stayed up waaaaaaay too late watching videos of people on yootoob playing around with their chainsaws. No OCD here, why do you ask?
And then there are phones ringing and texts and e-mails and barking dogs and neighborhood kids knocking on the door every five seconds (and five minutes after the last time I told them my son WAS NOT HOME) and food I forgot to buy and people I know having really bad karma and it was way warmer today than I thought and I totally shoulda put the Central Air back on, the heck with what the husband thinks.
The good news? Having friends for dinner and having real, adult conversations even if the kids were all miserable and they had too many s’mores during the camp fire we had (80 deegrees outside. Yes, we’re insane.) and then they were crazy and jumping on the trampoline and Bug Boy was screaming his head off at everyone and Bugaboo was stealing wheat-laden items and…wait, this was the good news.
That was the good news. Dinner. Friends. Company. Nice.
And Monday happens in less than three hours. THANK YOU BABY JEEBUS.