I saw this a while back on the facebooks and it made me simultaneously guffaw and wince. Especially as I get older, the later the gig or the more of my Saturday it takes up, the harder it is to get up or move the next day. This isn't a current issue for me now, since my full-time job and current location make this point moot, but it's a truism that brings me to my next point.
I hate weekends.
The only good part about a weekend is the rush of a Friday night that isn't a "school night", and the hope of sleeping in on Saturday morning, which rarely happens. Then there's Saturday which is always full of trying to catch up on the housework that I did all week that never appears to have been done,while simultaneously trying to keep the kids from going bonkers so maybe, just maybe, the husband can enjoy his one day off. And then there's Sunday. Let's just not go there.
Today deserves some kind of award, though. The poor husband has been so stressed out lately that last night he was grinding his teeth in his sleep so loudly it actually woke me up. And almost nothing wakes me up, although thanks to pregnancy insomnia almost nothing puts me back to sleep either. So I sent him to the temple for some peace-getting. The only problem is, we live in the middle of nowhere and the closest temple is in Chicago so the whole trip will take about 11 hours. So today is. Very weekend-y At one point I screamed at the kids to just please, PLEASE stop trying to kill each other (in the Dude's defense, he was trying to kill her by hugging) and then marched out the door to take out the trash and my neighbors were on their porch, moving around furniture and trying their darndest to not make eye contact. Ugh. That's the downside to living near other humans. They get to hear your crazy.
I was tempted to go over there and explain that I have not left the house except for grocery and school pick-ups in 4 days and my parents in China were AWOL for 3 of those days and I'm trying to potty train my 3 year old but unless I am an absolute slave to a timer it doesn't work and I'm feeling so alone and stressed out that I can hardly breathe and I also hate that I never learned how to do any kind of interior design and so my lovely house always looks like hobos are camping out in it. Oh, and every time I look in the mirror I look older and worse and it wasn't until this morning that I realized it was because my natural hair color looks awful on me, and that it has been 6 months since I had my roots done. That always sneaks up on me - I just start looking creepy and it doesn't occur to me why until after I have a mini meltdown in the bathroom with my sobbing at the mirror "FACE!! Y U NO LOOK GOOD?!" and then I realize it's because my roots suck. Getting them done doesn't fix the fact that I have the same face, but it helps out a bit. And I need every bit of help. But I can't get my roots done because I'm pregnant which is also not helping anything. Also my back hurts really bad.
And that makes me yell sometimes.
I didn't go explain myself, though. I just had a good cry on the bathroom floor instead. I thought to myself - I HAVE to choose happiness. Which may seem odd, as a person who will be taking anti-depressants until I die - but I really believe you can choose happiness. I can only choose so much before I need the medication to keep me from going completely crazy, but the amount I have control over makes all the difference. Medication can only take you so far.
But choosing happiness on a weekend when you are housewife is almost impossible. Even if you get out, someone else has to take the kids who go feral when I'm not around and the house ends up looking even more hobo-like so when you come back reality punches you in the face. There's always Monday to look forward to. I get 2 hours all to myself on Monday. I just have to get past the weekend.
I was tempted to go over there and explain that I have not left the house except for grocery and school pick-ups in 4 days and my parents in China were AWOL for 3 of those days and I'm trying to potty train my 3 year old but unless I am an absolute slave to a timer it doesn't work and I'm feeling so alone and stressed out that I can hardly breathe and I also hate that I never learned how to do any kind of interior design and so my lovely house always looks like hobos are camping out in it. Oh, and every time I look in the mirror I look older and worse and it wasn't until this morning that I realized it was because my natural hair color looks awful on me, and that it has been 6 months since I had my roots done. That always sneaks up on me - I just start looking creepy and it doesn't occur to me why until after I have a mini meltdown in the bathroom with my sobbing at the mirror "FACE!! Y U NO LOOK GOOD?!" and then I realize it's because my roots suck. Getting them done doesn't fix the fact that I have the same face, but it helps out a bit. And I need every bit of help. But I can't get my roots done because I'm pregnant which is also not helping anything. Also my back hurts really bad.
And that makes me yell sometimes.
I didn't go explain myself, though. I just had a good cry on the bathroom floor instead. I thought to myself - I HAVE to choose happiness. Which may seem odd, as a person who will be taking anti-depressants until I die - but I really believe you can choose happiness. I can only choose so much before I need the medication to keep me from going completely crazy, but the amount I have control over makes all the difference. Medication can only take you so far.
But choosing happiness on a weekend when you are housewife is almost impossible. Even if you get out, someone else has to take the kids who go feral when I'm not around and the house ends up looking even more hobo-like so when you come back reality punches you in the face. There's always Monday to look forward to. I get 2 hours all to myself on Monday. I just have to get past the weekend.
2 comments:
Okay, lemme tell you about hearing the neighbor's crazy...we know if our neighbors wash their hands after being in the bathroom or not. It's better when they bring the crazy out to the sidewalk and talk about us while we're trying to eat dinner. If your neighbors are worried about a little yelling, send them to me. I can fix it.
Also, call me and we can complain together about how Sunday is SO NOT a day of rest. SO NOT. And it makes me cry sometimes.
Lady, on those Saturdays, put on some awesome red lipstick. It's amazing what that will do for a woman's self esteem. At least, I've discovered it makes me feel a bit sexier. Even though I really am a lump of SO NOT SEXY.
I should've called you Saturday. I saw Jared post about his trip, but for some reason I thought you had gone with...you usually post about it too. One day, this intuition thing will come back to me.
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