Before I was married, I always dreamed about how my future husband and I would spend Labor Day, and let me tell you this: It was always a dream of being at Walmart on the Day of All The Labor, with a sixteen-foot-long shopping list that we ripped in half, because DIVIDE AND CONQUER, Y’ALL. Divide and conquer. It also involved me with a rambunctious preschooler in my shopping cart, trying to gather my list of supplies quicker than Hubs and our teenager could, and then the dream finished with us waiting in a Walmart checkout line for forty minutes.
I said forty minutes in the checkout line.
Apparently, there were many girls in Small Town, USA who had the same dream of spending their Labor Day shopping for groceries in a super center that wasn’t staffed well enough to accommodate the rush of people who just wanted their cereal and milk and jugs of Tide detergent before the week really got crazy.
I like to imagine it’s exactly how Prince William and Princess Kate spent THEIR Labor Day, too… with the kids tied down in the shopping cart with the filthy seatbelts, while they loaded up on caviar and croissants. And then I’m sure Kate would say, “Wills, honey, please! Just call one of the maids and ASK if we have any need for fabric softener sheets for the dryer!”
Our Labor Day weekend was a long one, because listen: I spent all of Thursday in my bed, dying from some illness that included nausea, dizziness, a solid headache and chills. I did NOTHING on Thursday, except remain in bed for twenty-four straight hours, trying to hold my head very still, so that I didn’t throw up from the room spinning ’round and ’round. On Friday, I was still suffering from the plague, so my mom took the day off from work to hang out with Thing 2 and clean my house, while I stayed in bed.
It was exactly like being on a glorious vacation… being in bed while my mom scrubbed my kitchen down and sorted broken Happy Meal toys out of Thing 2’s toybox… except for that part where I pretty much thought I might die from dizziness and that other part where I couldn’t even sip water without throwing up. So yes. EXACTLY like a glorious vacation. Apparently, I can raise my hand and claim that I’ve caught the first germs of the back-to-school season.
On Saturday, I was fine.
Back to normal.
I had survived the plague and come out on the opposite side as a victor. Thank you for that, Jesus, because You KNOW there were a few minutes in there when I wasn’t sure I was going to be victorious over this crud I was slammed with.
Hubs and I took Thing 2 to the park for a while to run and run, because the preschool crowd really enjoys running an entire marathon before lunch on Saturday mornings. Some of them even do their marathons in cowboy boots.
Thing 2 spent the entire afternoon vegging out to a Netflix marathon, in which he made it to Season Three. I’d ask where his parental supervision was, but it would just bring shame upon our family to admit that his parental supervision gave the THUMBS UP signal for GO AHEAD AND USE FOUR MONTHS’ WORTH OF SCREEN TIME… TODAY.
While Thing 2 lost brain cells in front of the TV for an embarrassingly long stretch of time, I read a book. Hubs and the boy spent six hours smoking three racks of ribs on the Traeger, which we learned caused the neighbors to drool.
And today there was Walmart.
It was the longest, most painful trip to Walmart I’ve ever had to make. I may have mentioned that we spent FORTY MINUTES JUST IN THE CHECKOUT LINE. You know, AFTER we had spent an hour fighting the crowds for the supplies that let us live the lives we’re accustomed to.
Like Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
And Noosa yogurt.
And granola bars dipped in chocolate and fortified with twelve essential vitamins and minerals.
Later… after Hubs had sat on our hardwood floor at home, breathing in and out of a paper sack and calming himself down because he had to deal with ALL THE SLOW PEOPLE WHO HAVE EVER LIVED ON THIS PLANET, ALL AT THE EXACT SAME MOMENT IN TIME, AND ALL OF THEM PUSHING SHOPPING CARTS OR SCANNING GROCERIES… we drove out to Small Mountain Town to have spaghetti with Grammy and Papa.
In other words, it was a great weekend, if you’re the low-key sort of people that we are, but the nineteen-year-old celebrity set probably would’ve found our three-day holiday to be a touch on the BORING side.
No matter. One day they’re going to grow up and dream about spending their Labor Day at Walmart… waiting in line for forty entire minutes. I know how teenage dreams work out!
Happy Labor Day, y’all.