I've got what people like to call "issues".
You know you've got a problem, when you continuously, week after week, write painful journal entries that are similar in nature. These blog entries contain the words,
"insane". "Ornery". And my personal fave: "Psycho Hose Beast". They also contain the term:
"Psycho Saturday". Perhaps you've had them at your house? It's where you have a to-do list so long you couldn't possibly get them done if you had complete free time to do them for 2 weeks, but instead, you scrunched them all onto one list for one Saturday.
And ya know what? I'm tired of that errand list having a trip to Hobby Lobby and Lowe's on there every.single.week. Plus, the dudes at Lowe's made fun of me last week ("She's always here").
And then things really get ugly when you go run your 10th errand and come back and the kitchen exploded while you were gone, everyone's down in the basement playing, except for you, and you're ready to start spanking butts.
But maybe that's just me.
I've chatted with you about this before-- this insane ability I have to rush things and make myself miserable. I guess I'm here to tell ya that I'm still doing what I said I wouldn't do.
Last weekend? If I had to sum up my behavior in two terms, I'd probably use these:
1. Paint brush glued to hand
2. Full of rage
Swore to myself this wouldn't happen this weekend. Swore I'd keep to the code. I'd follow my list I wrote up there, come heck or high water.
This may be one of the best Saturdays I ever did have.
What does a good Saturday look like to me? Oh, ya know. It's nothing spesh.
Fixin' breakfast with the youngin's.
Eating at 10:00 a.m.
Sitting around in my jammies at 11:00, and taking the time to play Super Mario with the 4 year old. Just 'cause he asked. And we all know nothing's more important than teaching boys about a dude that jumps on people's heads, wears a porn-stache with dignity, and can fall a hundred feet without a scratch.
A perfect Saturday also looks like taking the time to make "those" sandwiches. You know the ones.
"You know the one sandwiches, and they, like, have an olive sticking out of the top? I wanna make those."
Your wish is my command, son. Because today, I'm not psycho hose beast mommy. I'm laid-back mommy.
And, ya know, maybe it's all wrapped up in a friendly game of kickball with the neighbs.
Which my kids promptly ruined by being poor sports one by one. But let's not focus on the negative. The point is: Mommy wasn't a poor sport. 'N right now, that's all that matters.