Whose Saturday Did I Stumble Into?

by admin

Whose Saturday Did I Stumble Into?

Do you know what it’s like to wake up to someone screaming the phrase:

“Yes, you DO have to poop!”

I do.

I seem to be woken up by random phrases lately, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it’s far more interesting than waking up to an alarm, or to the baby crying. On the other hand, I feel a bit like screeched phrases of that nature aren’t fun AT ANY HOUR.

Let’s retro a bit … my husband called me yesterday, casually asking if I would mind picking up the kids a day early. I was fine with this, as I am now a woman of leisure (loosely translated: SAHM with a car). Turns out, I get more bored by 9 a.m. than most people get all day. Spring break is here, and the weather has been rainy. Their mother was more than happy to relinquish the wall climbers, and we met in the afternoon.

This being a Friday, my husband is at work, and I am enjoying the (albeit exhausted) calm that seems to be reigning over my living room right now. Which is nice, because so many weekend mornings lately have been … well, just bad. My alarm clock doesn’t beep, because no one needs an alarm when their wake up call is kids bouncing off the walls, baby screaming, husband grumpily stomping around (because the kids are bouncing off the walls and the baby is screaming), and a torn up, jacked up, cheerio- and random toy-covered house. Usually, by two solid days of this, I’m so ready to buy stock in Gillette, so that when I become a cutter, it’s beneficial to me in more than one way.

‘Kay, done whining, just wanted to reiterate my chillness.

It was supposed to start raining last night. It was supposed to start last night, and then continue through until, like, June. Yes, I’m exaggerating, but it was supposed to be until late Sunday night. The weather channel, weather.com, and about sixteen other information-giving locations all said that was the case. Then it wasn’t the case at all (insert my smiley face here).

The baby woke up around 6:30 a.m. (by talking, not by crying), and my husband and I woke up at the same time. He fed the baby, I made some coffee, and we had our weekend morning ritual of watching the new music videos. Now, my husband is sitting on the floor, playing his guitar. The baby is staring at him in awe, occasionally screaming erratically (which I’m pretty sure means he’s singing along happily), my stepdaughter is dancing with him, and my stepson is spinning on one foot.

Hmm … this might just be an okay day.