Holidays can be tough.
Thank you, Jen. At least somebody has the sense to say it. I mean Christmas was only three months ago. Do we really need another holiday?
I remember when my first child was two, and my friend whose daughter was the same age started talking about having another. I was like, “I just had a baby. I’m not ready for another. In fact, I won’t be ready until this one is out of the house.”
That’s why I’m declaring all holidays and babies bullshit!
The sad thing I didn’t even host is this Easter so I can’t complain about all the cooking and baking and cleaning it takes to prepare, which makes it sound like I shouldn’t be complaining at all except that even without hosting, the holidays add one more burden onto women’s already overloaded schedule.
I say women because I don’t know too many men who cook a whole meal for 15; clean an entire house; do all the planning and shopping for the occasion; buy all the Easter goodies for everyone in the family; buy, cook and dye a dozen eggs; fill and hide all the plastic Easter eggs and then get up the next morning to entertain a houseful of people, serve the meal, clean up, serve the coffee and desert, clean up, load the dishwasher, wash the extra dishes, wrap and put away the leftover food and dismantle the dining table after the last guest has left. But maybe it’s just me. To the men out there who do (like my husband), you have my utmost respect and undying support. I don’t mean to offend. But recalling my own childhood memories of the holidays, which haven’t changed much, after all the work the women did, the men were so exhausted they retired to the living room couch to take a nap.
So while I didn’t host, I did run around like a lunatic this extended holiday weekend just the same. Friday kicked off the marathon when I attempted to get some work done while also attending to the kids who were off from school. When I finished my work around 1:30, I jumped in the shower and then raced off to the food store since I do my weekly shopping on Friday, and we were in desperate need of food not to mention vinegar for egg dyeing and eggs to dye because although my husband bought eggs last week they were brown and as such rendered useless.
We had less than an hour to accomplish a task, which usually takes an hour and a half, because we needed to be back in time for Crazy’s guitar lesson so we tore around the store, sped through the check out, tossed all the items into the trunk and raced all the way home beating the guitar teacher by two minutes.
Fred arrived as we finished unloading the packages, and I continued to put away the groceries while simultaneous making lunch for the kids because even though it was 3:30 they hadn’t eaten yet. As I was doing both the phone rang, and I had to take the call. I didn’t hang up until an hour later so at 5:00 I was still putting away the last of the groceries. I’d planned on going to the mall after food shopping to pick up the final Easter goodies for The Kid’s basket, but it was too late, I was too tired and I still had dinner to make. The mall would have to wait until the next day.
Saturday morning I awoke to a beautiful, sunny day, and immediately sprang out of bed to start boiling eggs for dying and baking brownies for my contribution to the Easter meal. When I finally checked in on the internets around midmorning, I saw I had some strange activity on my site. Stats for Saturday were soaring. I’d never seen this kind of activity in my life and certainly not on a Saturday. Clearly, there was a mistake. I just knew my stupid computer was broken. It’d been acting up for weeks. Then I noticed the referrer. The traffic was coming from Mamapedia. Wholly cow. I’d completely forgotten the playdate piece I’d submitted had been scheduled for Saturday. This unexpected turn of events necessitated my writing of a short piece for my site and tweeting, Facebooking and pinning to the world about how immensely I loathe playdates, which took half the morning, and before I knew it, it was time for the kids’ hair cut appointments so I dispensed with showering and raced over to the salon. An hour later we were out of there and on our way to the craft store because my dad had assigned me an art project (he wanted The Kid to paint something for him), and I never had time to pick up the supplies (he didn’t provide any), and he’d already asked about it twice, and while I have two kids to raise, my career to pick up out of the gutter and a house to manage, I didn’t want to show up on Easter without it and endure further questioning.
After the craft store, we raced home to used the bathroom, check the site stats and get a drink of water before heading out again to the mall because I still had to get the Easter goodies I never got the day before. Let me pause for a moment, here, and say NEVER, ever, ever go to the Mall on the Saturday before Easter with two children in tow. (Not even at five o’clock on the first, glorious spring day of the year when people should be outside or eating dinner.) I don’t care what you have to do. Lock them in the car. Leave them home alone. Whatever. But do NOT go into the mall.
This task shouldn’t have been such an ordeal for me considering my kids are old enough to behave themselves for a quick jaunt to the mall. Unfortunately, my kids find behaving themselves unappealing. If I wasn’t tripping over the 5,000 people streaming through the unnaturally lit, polished beacon of consumerism, I was tripping over my own two kids because even though we were on a mission, and my kids were warned I was in no mood, they were astonishingly oblivious to anything other than themselves. The entire time they insisted on standing directly infront of me as I attempted to run my errands. This behavior was so reliable and persistant that on more than one occasion I shouted, while pointing to a corner of the store, “Stand over there and wait!”
By 7:30 we finally escaped from the mall, ordered Chinese and collapsed into bed. I had been going for over 12 hours, and in all my life I have never been so grateful The Kid was sick so we could at least cross lacrosse practice off our schedule for that day.
Sunday morning found me up at 6:30 a.m. and off to the races or egg hunt, as it were, before taking the two hour drive to my family’s house for Easter. Several hours later we were back on the road home. We made it to bed at a reasonable hour and awoke the following day to start the week over again. All of which leads me to ask,
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