So what else do you do on a Monday, but run a ridiculously long list of errands. And take your five year old with you. Of course.
It actually gave us something to do, and I was grateful for the outing. We are suffering through a heat wave (I prefer to call it summer in the South) but the weather people call it a heat wave. Whatever. All I know is that it’s damn hot. DAMN hot. Like melt the eyebrows off your face hot.
As a treat for being such a good helper, I took my son to our local splash pad. It was a great way to cool off and to, well, just get out of the house.
Little did I know that modern parents have ripped pages out of Soap Opera Digest and US Weekly Magazine to name their children.
As I sat there watching my son play I was surrounded by shouts of micromanager mothers… “Holden, Maddox… Jaden STOP that, do this, don’t do that…” “Isabella, Adrianna, Sophia…. come here”. GOOD GOD. Just because Angelena Jolie names her kid something doesn’t mean YOU need to do that. You live in the rural south of America. Your son, when he’s 45, will look ridiculous answering to the likes of Jaden and Maddox. Especially when he’s working at the Piggly Wiggly.
I mean really. Whatever happened to John?
Anyway, each to their own, I guess. But seriously… STOP MICROMANAGING YOUR KIDS! Because by the time I get them in fifth grade they can’t think for themselves and then YOU complain about it and expect me to fix it. STOP IT!
Then there was our swimming lesson.
My son is learning to swim. Of course, like anything new and challenging, he’s not having it. After many tears and rounds of tough love, he swam the length of the pool. It’s hard to sit there and shut your mouth when you a) know it’s the best thing for your son to let him cry it out and b) you want to go scoop him up, dry him off and take him to Dairy Queen to make him stop crying. But, I powered through, shut my mouth and sat there letting the swim instructor work her magic. And now he can swim. Go me.
I took a few minutes of ‘me’ time to give myself a pedicure. It’s one of my favorite things to do. Wait, scratch that. Having someone ELSE give me a pedicure is one of my favorite things to do and I don’t get paid until next week, so a home pedicure it was. Plus, I have an OBGYN appointment this week and you may as well have nice toes as you’re getting your private parts inspected. Just sayin’.
So, as I luxuriated my feet in my dollar store dishpan full of suds, I watched a daytime TV show host a wedding. It was really nice, but as soon as the bride walked out I thought WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU ON WHEN YOU BOUGHT THAT DRESS? DIDN’T YOU HAVE PEOPLE WITH YOU… AND A MIRROR? Seriously. It was hideous. And I’m sure very expensive. She looked like someone had TP’d her (toilet papered her). Seriously.
Watching the whole thing reminded me of my wedding day (sans the TP esque dress and the fancy schmancy decorations). I was never the kind who dreamed of a wedding. In fact, I went wedding dress shopping alone, in sweats and a ball cap. 4 weeks before my wedding. I bought the first dress I put my hand on. It currently sits in a Rubbermaid tub in my closet with liquor stains on it. Whatever. I wasn’t much of a wedding enthusiast.
I mean don’t get me wrong, I like being married. I just don’t feel you need to spend thousands of dollars on one day when you’re eventually going to be yelling at someone about how they load the dishwasher. Really. Why go into debt just to do that? Needless to say we had a very low key wedding with the world’s worst photographer. That is the ONE area I tell brides to be NOT to skimp on. Our photog was hideous, bossy and horrible, so much so I considered reenacting my wedding photos just to get better pictures. HORRIBLE.
So, I sat there watching these two lovebirds fawn all over each other, trying to remember what it was like to be a newlywed. We’ve been married ten years. Not a lot compared to others, but more than a few Kardashian weddings combined. I’ll take it.
As you can tell, from my random musings on this Monday, summer is a very slow season in this house, but, I’ll take it.
After surviving the Facebook gushing Father’s Day tributes yesterday, I felt I deserved to blow off a little sarcastic steam. Seriously. I tried to stay away from all the flowing tributes because having a dead father, well, it kind of makes you feel bad. When you start wanting to post “JUST YOU WAIT” type of status updates to those lucky enough to still have a live father, it’s time to turn off the computer. So I did.
So here I sit with perfectly pink toes, and nothing to look forward to tomorrow except the stay at home mom gig I’m currently on.
I’ll take it.