1. Holy hell, I’ve never been so grateful to see a weekend end.
2. You already know I rolled into the weekend at a deficit seeing as there are no secrets here on the blog. Well, there are a few secrets. Okay, we’ve got secrets, yes we do because life but the fact that last week was tough isn’t one of them. Which meant getting a good night’s sleep on Friday was critical because I knew Saturday would be long.
3. While we were having a heart-to-heart (ahem) with one of the chickadees on Friday evening Gracie found her way into Bear’s bathroom and spent about thirty minutes chowing down on who knows what. Can you say contributing factor? I didn’t know yet that my good night’s sleep was hanging in the balance.
4. When I finally fell into bed it was with a thank heavens, time for some serious shut eye. No Saturday alarms for me.
5. Except it turned out I didn’t need an alarm. One hour later there was a huge thunk as Gracie’s paws dropped onto the bed, asking to go out. An hour after that she knocked my phone off the nightstand getting me up. An hour after that I was on a hairpin trigger so all she had to do was breathe in my general direction and I was hustling toward the back door. Gracie was up every hour on the hour between midnight and 5:00am. Lawd.
6. One would think that would teach Gracie not to eat out of the trash. One would be wrong.
7. Saturday morning was a bit touch and go because, you know, parenting and such but I was digging in for the long haul. I mean, what the heck, it’s Saturday, right? RIGHT? Surely the day would get better. It’s like a cardinal law of weekends or something. The sanctity of Saturdays. We Could Do This and all that jazz.
8. Then the birthday party happened. Not for nothing, but my requirements for letting my kid come to your party are pretty basic.
- Kids will be where the invitation says they’ll be.
- Kids will be reasonably supervised.
- No juggling sharp knives or eating fire.
9. I’m not an idiot. “Supervised” as teens and “supervised” at six are not the same thing. But there’s all-up-your-butt supervised and see-you-in-a-couple-hours-at-this-huge-outdoor-mall-in-another-city [insert air quotes] supervised and then there’s a happy medium. Find the happy medium. Do not come at me with parenting differences – got other people’s kids in tow? You’ll want to make damn sure you don’t lose one. All’s well that ends well, blah blah blah, but it has to be said again. Bee, you’re my hero.
10. For my real life peeps who saw me Sunday and registered the level of bizarre distraction that was me trying to function like a regular adult – thank you. For listening to me ramble incoherently about the odds our kids will drive us insane. For your hugs, offers to listen, and parenting stories that made me feel like we will actually survive this. I love each and every one of you. We Can Do This and all that jazz. Amen.