Sundays, man. They really blow sometimes. Today is one of those times. It’s a bad combination of having left all our chores until today (mountains of laundry for m* and grocery shopping for me) and The Who seeing it as a day for undivided adult attention. No thank you on all counts.
Some Sundays are easier than others. Sometimes we have plans to structure the day. A birthday party we have to be at at a specific time or a play date. Sometimes I have a boatload of energy and can easily get us out the door for an outing, but sometimes it’s a perfect storm of no energy, no structure, and hormone-related moodiness. Welcome to today.
The Who, for all of his inherent 4-year-old obnoxiousness, is doing a decent job of rolling with our general apathy and lack of energy. He is, for example, right now, satisfied with a bowl of Ritz crackers, some hard boiled egg whites, and Mary Poppins on the tiny portable DVD player (because I can’t put my hands on the connecting cords so we can watch it on the TV. He’s asking to play a lot and certainly showing his dissatisfactions when we can’t or won’t, but it hasn’t quite reached an intolerable point. And it’s nearly 2pm. I can see the trifecta of dinner/bath/bed in the near distant future. It’s going to be ok. (This is me, bright-siding it.)
Some people really dig on Sundays. Who are these radical weirdos? Do they have kids and chores?