Sunday, December 10, 2017

Could Weekends With Kids Be More of a Clusterfuck? Asking for a Friend

I’m just wondering. You know, hypothetically-speaking. Because here are a few highlights, and I’m just kind of curious if maybe my clusterfuck meter needs to be recalibrated? Like maybe it's not really AS much of a clusterfuck as it feels? 

I'll let you be the judge:

SATURDAY:


6:00 a.m.: I open my left eyeball in the pitch black. I’m super excited, because I hate mornings and suddenly remember it's a Saturday, which means I can theoretically go back to sleep. BUT WAIT! JUST KIDDING! IT’S DECEMBER IN ALASKA AND IT’S ACTUALLY 8:43-- a full two hours and 43 minutes later than it feels! Which means my kids have been watching Danger Mouse and eating foraged sugar for almost three hours now. BAD. MOMMY.

9:00 a.m.: A generational showdown is underway over the condition of our shared living space. It's me and Geoff vs. Paige and Isaac, and we pepper them with questions: How do you live like this? Like ungrateful pigs in a trough? Do you know a lot of kids don't even HAVE a house to mess up like this? Weren't you supposed to clean up this painting project three days ago? Do you realize there is now an indefinite moratorium on new stuff coming into this house? INCLUDING for holidays and birthdays? Do you think I care that you don't know what an indefinite moratorium is? Do you think it sounds like a good thing? GO LOOK IT UP IN A BOOK!


12:00 p.m.: We're between soccer games, and have already driven the same stretch of beat-to-shit Juneau pavement back and forth about 74 times. We now have exactly thirty minutes to buy used ski boots next to the going-out-of-business gun store. Just typing that sentence makes me want to fall through the floor for 100 different reasons. The only thing missing is a minivan, mom jeans, and a box of ammo. But I'll tell you what's NOT missing. A lot of whining about what size feet Paige and Isaac actually have at the end of their legs. THESE BOOTS FEEL TOOO TIIIIIGGGHHHT! THAT'S HOW THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO FEEL! And so on, until the kids are practically standing with both feet in a single giant boot and still claiming it's too small and tight, and it's 47 degrees anyway on New Planet Earth so who even cares about ski boots.

1:00 p.m.: Second soccer game, this one for Paige's team. I just mowed down three grilled chicken tacos from Breez-In in a carton off my lap in the car, and let my kids buy juice to shut them up. I'm watching Isaac hit pinecones with the empty plastic juice bottle as far as he can, and then count the number of steps back to the pinecone in, again, 47 degrees and sideways rain.

2:30 p.m.: Paige has "dance pictures" and is under strict orders to dress up like Jonbenet Ramsey for said pictures. I force her to shower for the first time in a week. Apart from her unwillingness to bathe, Paige, who will be all of ten on New Year’s Eve, is in full-blown tween ASSHOLE mode. The eye-rolling. The back-sassing. The "fresh mouth" and "tone of voice" as my parents used to call it. It's in full effect, and it's all I can do to resist grabbing her chin in my hand, squeezing it like an orange, and spitting into her face that WE DON'T TALK TO OUR PARENTS WITH THAT FRESH TONE OF VOICE!!!!

6:00 p.m.: Babysitter arrives and I can finally start tying one on and eating salami and cookies at a couple of Christmas parties. I make sure to eat and drink as much crap as possible to ensure the next day will be awesome.

10:00 p.m.: Return from parties to kids still awake, having baked "cookies," and refusing to go to bed. I remind them that IT'S A TREAT TO HAVE A BABYSITTER AND IF YOU DON'T GO TO BED THIS MINUTE WE ARE NEVER GETTING YOU A BABYSITTER AGAIN!

11:00 p.m.: Finally get kids down for the night and eat three of the "cookies," which are actually just like these round, sugar dough-bricks with a butter and sugar glaze on top adorned with those gross little cinnamon decorative candies and something else that's green but definitely not a vegetable. 

SUNDAY (SO FAR)

6:00 a.m./8:43 a.m.: Repeat yesterday’s wakeup routine, but with new flair. The kids are on the couch fighting like two cats in a sack over a blanket and whose feet are on whose. PAIGE STOP KICKING ME ISAAC YOU'RE STEALING ALL THE BLANKET ETC. I CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER SECOND OF THIS! I'm already being nagged for playdates, so I start text-stalking parents, and immediately get accused of ignoring my family because I'm on my phone.

9:30 a.m.: I gulp down two cups of coffee and instantly have to crap my brains out due to what I put my body through at the aforementioned Christmas parties. While I'm trying to take a shit in peace, I hear FUCK FUCK FUCKETY FUCK ASSHOLE MIDDLE FINGER YOU'RE A FUCKING SHIT HEAD ASSHOLE! I'm forced to scream from the bathroom down the hall to STOP USING THAT LANGUAGE OR YOU'RE GOING TO GET MOMMY AND DADDY IN TROUBLE AND END UP IN STATE CUSTODY IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT!?!??!?

11:00 a.m.: Geoff fights through his "man cold" and takes Isaac skiing. I promptly take Isaac's place to start fighting with Paige: DID YOU FINISH ISLAND OF THE BLUE DOLPHINS FOR SCHOOL?! YOUR ROOM IS A MESS! YOU NEED TO CLEAN IT RIGHT NOW AND YOU NEED TO CLEAN UP THIS BAKING PROJECT!!! Paige complains that ISLAND OF THE BLUE DOLPHINS IS THE MOST BORING BOOK IN THE WHOLE WORLD WHO CARES THAT KARANA MADE A SKIRT WITH PELICAN FEATHERS and I tell her LIFE IS BORING GET USED TO IT. 

11:15: I am now subjected to more "gymnastics" in my living room with promises of future cleaning and reading. I try to make Paige remove her Jonbenet Ramsey eye makeup and she refuses. Quite the opposite: she insists that I text AND email AND call her dance teachers to see if she is going to get to move up a level next session, and every five minutes asks me if they've emailed or texted back yet.

The day isn't over yet, not even close. Monday feels like a distant mirage of an oasis in the Sahara. I choose to commit the weekend's exploits thus far to the internet for posterity. 

After all, I don't want my kids to say I never did anything for them.





2 comments:

  1. FUCK FUCK FUCKETY FUCK ASSHOLE MIDDLE FINGER YOU'RE A FUCKING SHIT HEAD ASSHOLE.

    Loved that.

    ReplyDelete
  2. "Your comment will be visible after approval."

    WTF Libby?

    FUCK FUCK FUCKETY FUCK ASSHOLE MIDDLE FINGER YOU'RE A FUCKING SHIT HEAD ASSHOLE - approve my comment!

    ReplyDelete

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