Sundays.

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?

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2 thoughts on “Sundays.

  1. I prefer winter Sundays at home with chores to fall Sundays that are made for rushing from church to lunch to soccer field and back home to do chores and dinner and omg rush rush rush. The best is when you can make kids do chores. Child labor in process over here today!

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