Has it been a whole week since I last posted?
Wow. I'm getting lazy with this blogging thing.
You say I didn't post a thing about Adam's birthday and his party? I didn't post his four year update? And it's February? Man. Poor Middle.
There just doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day to get all the things I need done. I remember my mom saying the exact same thing to her friends on her avocado colored corded phone staked to the kitchen wall and piping in "Not enough hours? Too many hours! School is sooo long and it takes forever to get to summer vacation! Wah. I am soooo bored!" before she gave me the don't-make-me-hang-up-and-deal-with-you stare and said I'd think differently one day.
Yes, Mom. You were right. You have always been right. You are actually not the stupidest person to ever live. And you were right not to wear a bikini to the pool that summer even though I said you were uncool. In hindsight, Stephanie's mom must have been having some sort of mid-life crisis and that was kinda gross. Thank you.
I am busy.
Once upon a time my husband worked ten hours a day and returned before dinner where I would do a little Elaine dance hearing the garage door arise and be waiting at the door to tag team parent my one and only loud and messy child.
Now my husband works fourteen hours a day, leaves me to tackle dinnertime alone with three kids and returns most nights well after baths have been given and at least two kids have been wrestled to bed. His job sucks. His boss hates him. Brown-nosing co-workers dump on him. But he can't find anything else. No one's hiring and instead firing. Even his own company will be laying off next month and he's in fear that if his boss gets to choose, he'll be the first canned. So he works. And works. And works. He gets no overtime. No respect. Just the hope that he'll have a job, albeit one that causes him daily misery.
Oh, and did I mention our mortgage went up six hundred bucks? We are some of the lucky few who get to pay extra taxes. I think I heard Obama laughing when I wondered about my own stimulus check.
I try not to complain. I listen to my husband's tales of the woeful work world and pat his back or give him a hug and tell him it's no big deal that he hasn't eaten dinner with us in three weeks. That, no, I won't spend any money this week. Sure, we can cancel Valentine's Day, the kids know we love them, they don't need a special day to tell them that. I guess I can quit buying the organic milk. I mean, we didn't drink organic milk and we're fine, right?
But, damn, I'm tired.
If it's here at home, I do it. If it's at school, I do it. If it needs purchased, I get it. And, oh boy, why were all my kids born six weeks apart? The party planning is all mine. If it weren't for me their big days would be hopelessly forgotten as just another day and, dang, we can't have that! So I babysit every other Friday so my kids can feel special on their one and only very own day.
And that's okay, because that's my job. But, man, sometimes my job kinda sucks too. I work long hours. I rarely get the respect I deserve. And my co-worker dumps on me. A lot. And he doesn't even realize it. And my employees, they're pretty smart, but they require a lot of hand-holding and they just don't get things the first time I teach them so that throws a wrench into our facility much of the time. You know, it all might be grounds for dismissal, but they are so dern cute I want to keep them around, so I pick up the slack. What else can I do?
But I am tired.
And hopelessly lacking free time these days.
But until I find more....
The party was a success! Even if he was embarrassed while they sang to him.
Mmm...cupcake cake. Messy, but so delicious.
And who wouldn't want to spend their birthday at the zoo?
Or Waffle House?
One birthday down, two more to go. Then maybe I can rest.
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