The Weekend

Is Monday night too late to write about the weekend? I hope not, because here I go.

My husband's weekend was jam-packed with funerals and memorial services and a sermon and meetings. My weekend was full of kids and grit on my kitchen floor. No matter how much I "swiffer" the floor, I have grit. This is because I allow my children to go outdoors, dig in the mud and wear shoes, both indoors and outdoors. But. I digress.

On Saturday, I decided to rearrange the boys' bedroom. This involved removing a lot of books and plastic bins from a huge shelving unit and using brute force to inch it to its new home. I moved beds, chairs. I vacuumed repeatedly. And, of course, I did all this while taking care of Babygirl and three big boys. After Babygirl napped, I took all the kids on a walk to 7-11 again for Slurpees. The weather was lovely, sunny and in the fifties.

Saturday afternoon, my husband calls and says, "Hey, when I get home later, you can go to a movie or something if you want." Isn't he thoughtful? I begin to look forward to escaping the four walls and gritty floors of my home. Half an hour later, he calls again to say, "Hey, let's go to a movie together!" I say, "Oh. Okay." Now, I have to finish my rearranging project, clean up the rest of the messy house which I've neglected while devoting time to my project, feed the kids, clean the kitchen, make myself presentable, bathe the children and put the baby to bed. All alone. By seven. Then when the babysitter arrives, I will go pick him up from his office and we'll go from there.

I am an exhausted, sweaty mess with a bad attitude by the time I pick him up. And the house isn't tidy. A girl can only do so much.

The other thing is this. I like movies that my husband would not like. I wanted to see "Against the Ropes" with Meg Ryan. I like literary movies, dark movies, psychological thrillers, critically acclaimed movies. We saw "Welcome to Mooseport."

I must be very difficult to amuse because I did not find the movie funny. The audience was laughing, guffawing, chortling, giggling. I was shifting in my seat, trying to get comfortable. I thought the cast of character actors had been plucked straight from community theater. They were so overwrought, so unbelievable. And Ray Romano, bless his heart, was just Ray Romano. I don't think he can act. He is just himself. Maura Tierney was exactly the same as she was in News Radio and on ER. Gene Hackman--yawn. I liked Marcia Gay Harden. The rest? Oh please. I wouldn't even watch that on network television. It was so boring, so predictable. So not funny.

But as I said, I must be difficult to amuse, because my husband liked it. Everyone in the theater seemed to like it. Maybe I just have PMS.

Sunday was my day to be the volunteer nursery attendant. I don't really mind since I usually end up in there anyway, sooner or later, with Babygirl. Two of the toddlers, though, had runny noses! I cannot understand why a parent would bring a runny-nosed kid to a church nursery. I am the nursery coordinator and I need to make a giant sign saying "This is a Mucus-Free Zone." We had seven toddlers in attendance.

My husband worked all day--he had a memorial service and then meetings. We spent a lot of time outdoors in the afternoon. I trimmed a thorny bush by the gate and the kids dug another giant hole and then asked if they could fill it with water. They love to build lakes and streams. I allowed it, even though I was not in the mood for mud. At least they were getting muddy with a spirit of cooperation.

Some time over the weekend, I peered into mirror in the boys' brightly lit bathroom and spied a strangely colored hair. I plucked it out and examined it. The pigment faded along the shaft of the hair and I couldn't decide, but I think I may have found my first gray hair. I wanted to save it and immediately realized how neurotic and insane that idea was. So I just let it drift out of my hand. I've reverted to my natural color and now it is going to betray me? How is that right?

Speaking of hair, I came across a box of pictures and letters from and to my dad, which led me to another box of his family tree paperwork. And then I found the old envelope I'd searched for a few weekends back which contains a golden-red lock of hair. The outside of the envelope says in faded fountain-pen ink: "Gary's hair." Sure enough, I held this silky lock of her grandfather's baby hair up to Babygirl's head. Her hair is the exact shade. I snipped a curl off the back of her head to save before she up and leaves home for college. The days are long, but the years are short and soon enough she'll be earning her Master's degree and calling me once a week.

Last night, she woke up before 11 p.m., which is strange. I nursed her and put her back to bed and then dreamed all night that I heard her crying. Sure enough, she woke up stuffy this morning. She caught DaycareKid's cold from last week. Sigh. DaycareKid still has his runny nose, too. I hate colds.

My husband has started taking Mondays off. So, he had today off. He took a load of stuff to the thrift store for me and then hung out. He read the newspaper, talked to me while I was trying to watch a show during naptime and took a nap. I'm glad he gets a true day off now--when he was taking Fridays off, he almost always ended up working.

I still haven't painted my wall red. But I did iron my husband pants for the week, so he won't have to go to work clad only in his underwear. I do have my priorities.