It Was Just A Monday

Our weekend is over, as tends to happen when Monday rolls around.

If you have any questions on how I have felt today, let the picture that our boys’ pediatrician, Dr.  B, posted on Facebook this morning bring you up to speed:

13076821_917568171688705_1954769339171354322_nOf course, I should have used Photo Shop to enhance the bags under Monday Lisa’s eyes for a more accurate representation of me today.

On Friday, the boy had a golf tournament that was over the river and through the woods and across the mountain from us.  This whole concept of catching the golf bus at 6:00 on a Friday morning is not something that I’ll ever come to adore.  Although Thing 2 pops out of bed at 5:30 in the morning fully charged and ready to run two back-to-back marathons, the boy cannot even manage it.  He needs to be given time to lie in bed, after his alarm goes off, and vocally criticize his desire to play varsity golf.  He then needs time to mumble that he wants to be homeschooled… IN THE AFTERNOONS, so that he can continue sleeping in the mornings.  After that, he needs time to soak in a hot shower, where he falls asleep standing up and requires one of his parents to pound on the bathroom door, letting him know that there are exactly fourteen minutes until the bus’s departure.  When he’s finally out of the shower, he will then require forty-six minutes to sit at the kitchen counter, with his head bent over a bowl of Lucky Charms, which he will eat with all the speed and motivation of a drunken sloth.

And then he won’t be able to find his sunglasses or his ball cap, so  he’ll need time to sit on his bed and think about where he might have left them.  Sitting on his bed, THINKING about where his lost items might be is always the warmup for actually getting up and physically searching for them.

People, it’s a miracle that Hubs and I are able to get that child onto the bus in time to join the rest of his team for an out-of-town tournament.  It’s actually nothing short of miraculous that our older child actually makes it to school every morning before his 8:20 bell rings.  The boy doesn’t DO mornings.

In the meantime, while the boy has been struggling through all of that, getting ready to head off to a golf tournament, Thing 2 will have had his shower, gotten dressed, done seventy-six laps around our house on his Strider bike, eaten a bowl of oatmeal, chased it with a container of Greek yogurt, re-enacted a tractor crash in his bedroom with fourteen John Deeres, run out to the living room to retrieve his firetruck, so that the fire engine can get to the scene of the accident, eaten an orange, changed out of the initial outfit I dressed him in, because he decided he didn’t like the shirt, eaten six strawberries, taken his vitamins, slurped down a protein shake, practiced his pushups and shared a cup of coffee with his dad.

All of this will have happened between 5:30 and 5:41 for Thing 2.


The boy was back in Small Town, USA by 8:30 on Friday night.  He let us know that varsity golf tournaments are a bit more intense than JV tournaments, and that his score was just okay, because he lost a ball in the pond.  Twice.  He also complained that he had suffered through twenty layers of sunscreen, because he remembered that he completely forgot to apply sunscreen during the last golf tournament, which is why he looked like this last week:


But, the boy said the tournament was a ton of fun, and that he laughed until his sides ached on the bus with the rest of the team.

While the boy was golfing on Friday, I was at home cleaning.  It was the kind of cleaning that involves moving furniture to vacuum and using Pine-Sol to scrub down your bathrooms and actually dusting until you sneeze.  I scrubbed our house for five hours on Friday, because apparently I was desperate to smell all the cleanliness while the windows were open, bringing in the spring breezes.

I have no idea why I wasted five hours of my life doing this on Friday, because this morning, I was met with THIS in our kitchen:

IMG_6151-1It’s exactly how every mother wants to wake up on a Monday morning… with her hair disheveled, bags beneath her eyes, and six years’ worth of dirty dishes crammed into the sink.  My only saving grace today was that the boy didn’t have to catch a 6 AM bus.

And thank heavens I cleaned all day Friday; I can’t imagine what the kitchen would’ve looked like if I hadn’t.

I also ran my new washer and dryer all weekend, washing everything I could get my hands on.  The boy had invited his buddy, Eli, to come stay with us after his golf tournament, so I washed sleeping bags for them, because I COULD.

I washed the entire stack of blankets in the family room that the kids use to keep the chill off while they’re watching TV.

I washed our bathroom rugs.

I washed jeans.

I washed Thing 2’s heavy coat and snow pants.

I washed socks.

I washed towels.

I washed sheets.

I also discovered that my new washer, which lacks an agitator hogging up space in the middle of the drum, is so enormous, I can wash two sleeping bags at the same time.


Our water bill this month may look like we filled a backyard swimming pool that we don’t own, but if it can go into a washing machine for a cleaning, you can bet your favorite pair of boots that it’s sanitized and smells like Tide at my house.

On Saturday, Thing 2 crashed  his Strider bike into our kitchen counter.  The bridge of his nose took the hit.

IMG_9194 IMG_9196He decided that maybe the injury was big enough that it required a bandage.

He applied the bandage himself.

IMG_2485And then he took six more out of the box, which he stuck all over his arms and legs.

Thing 2 is the lone reason that I never can find a bandage when I sever my arm and find myself in desperate need of one.

On Sunday, it poured rain.

And then it poured snow.

We had a lovely family outing to Walmart, where we filled the cart to the brim and gave all of our dollars away in exchange for bread and Lucky Charms and more laundry detergent.  Afterwards, we brought all three hundred and fourteen plastic Walmart bags full of loot home in the sloppy, wet weather.

It was the kind of trip that dreams are made of.

Later on Sunday, we went to some friends’ house, where the grownups talked and chatted, while the kids all went outside to play in the wet snow.  They built snowmen and rode the sleds down the hill; they used Tonka tractors and dump trucks to plow snow off the deck, while we sat inside and drank coffee.

It was the decaf kind, because it was 4:30 in the afternoon.

Today, our bushy-haired boy…

IMG_9213 IMG_9214… got his hair cut.

IMG_9221 IMG_9225He cleans up kind of nice, even if the evidence of his indoor bike wreck is gonna scar over and make the chicks swoon.

Chicks dig scars.

And then tonight, Hubs came home to learn that he was needed on the construction site.

Apparently some Play Doh drilling was going down, while I was using a Jedi mind trick to create supper.  OSHA will be so happy to see that all employees were wearing their safety goggles.

IMG_2509Or… oggles, as Thing 2 calls them.   Beginning G sounds are often overrated.

After our dinner of Shake ‘N Bake chicken and baked potatoes (because I threw out all the stops tonight, and went gourmet on the family), the kitchen looked like this:

image2Let’s all stop and give a loud slow-clap for that clean kitchen.

And THAT, y’all, was our weekend.  And also our Monday.

Y’all have a good one.

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