Which means it really fucking blows when my weekend sucks. Yesterday I was so irritated and stabby that I couldn't even write about it because it would not have been funny. I think it's worse when you really NEED the weekend to go well and then it doesn't. It started with deciding not to go to the March for Science, despite planning for WEEKS to go, because I knew we had a birthday party to go to later that day and that I wanted to get my chores done. That way I could drink good booze and eat good food (that I didn't cook), with people I haven't seen in forever, while my kids ran amok unsupervised. I'd also be clear today so I could hangover in peace.
I'm sure it will come as no surprise that obviously that plan didn't work out. First, while I was at Target, Syd got in trouble and C suspected her of lying. He told her that if, when I got home, it turned out I hadn't said what she said I did, she wouldn't be able to go to the party. So OF COURSE I didn't say what she said I had. So fuck. Party was out because it's weird for adults to go to 7 year old's doggy parties without a child in tow. Syd takes her licks like a champ, but she and I were both super bummed out. So we cleaned house and did laundry instead, interspersed with mild bouts of yelling. I let the kids have friends over in the afternoon, trying to redeem the situation, and that ended in me sending neighbor kids home, two broken pictures (from separate incidents), and all of my kids in tears. Needless to say I popped a beer early and often. The day didn't get any better. I folded a million loads of laundry (which was NOT relaxing) and then the fucking dog ate my fucking my bathmat.
|This is not a large bathroom and that is not a small dog. Who has gas.
Today was moderately better. No one cried and I didn't start drinking until a respectable hour. But still. I want a weekend do-over because I don't feel relaxed or rejuvenated. While I was wallowing in self-pity today, I decided that I need to be more intentional about my weekends if I'm going to give them so much weight. Yet the song of my people (that is, middle aged suburban moms) is either the public and emetic proclamations of the need for "me time" or the martyrish denial of anything that doesn't benefit my special snowflakes. I think by virtue of my work and so much focus on self-care and burnout, I fall somewhere in the middle. Unfortunately, it appears that I've completely forgotten what it is that rejuvenates me and constitutes a "good weekend." I have a tendency to Fill. All. The. Hours, which is great but often ends up with all of us tired and the house trashed. On the other hand, weekends at home often end up in chores, chores, and more chores because we've let the house get trashed. And I never feel great about taking off on my own during the weekend because C has been with the kids all week (I'm totally willing to reevaluate this stance.)
So that's where the magical people of the interwebs come in. What do you do to renew on your days off? What constitutes a good weekend? And how do you recover from a craptastic day?
And tangentially related, I want to spruce up my office. What cool office things do you have that make your day a bit brighter?