This weekend was the opposite of relaxing. I slept waaaay in on Saturday, which I appreciated the opportunity to do, but it ended up leaving me in one of those groggy-all-day places that I hate so much.
Wait. Let me back up. Because I really feel like it started on Wednesday, when The Who’s school was cancelled for snow. We were all home together all day (though I worked at the dining room table for most of it) and it felt like a Sunday. He was home again on Thursday for parent-teacher conferences and although I wasn’t home with him, I was aware of his being home and anxious about the amount of hours I knew he was spending playing video games. Thursday night, I picked him up on my way home from work and spent hours trying out office chairs at Staples and mattresses at the store next door. By the time we negotiated a price and delivery time for the mattress and I got him home and to bed, it was nearly 9pm (for a boy who is headed upstairs most nights by 7:45.)Friday, off again for parent-teacher conferences, I took him to work with me. Friday night we went to Shabbat services, grabbing his best friend along for the ride. Another night home past 9. Saturday, the day I slept in too long and was in a stupor all day, ended with yet another synagogue event with the bestie. And yet another night home past 9. This morning started with a hangry boy who turned what I thought was an innocuous comment about helpfulness into a shitstorm of negative self-talk, and then a rushed clean-out and stripping of the bed to ready my room for my new mattress delivery. When we finally recovered from the emotional distress, we were late to Hebrew school teaching, where my co-teacher was out and the oldest of our teen helpers was also out. At some point during this day, I had to teach an origami class to twenty noisy, impatient children and –fully owning the blame here — I tried to teach them to fold something I had never even folded myself. After the week I had, after the morning I had, and before the afternoon I was about to have, which was, actually, largely pleasant, but still fraught with logistics, responsibility, and more social interaction that this mostly-extrovert could even handle. And then — in the middle of watching The Diary of Anne Frank on stage with my 9-year-old (who was entirely riveted, by the way), I received news via text that the box spring of the mattress we had spent hours choosing and then battled through prepping for this morning wouldn’t fit up the stairs and not only would I come home to no new mattress, but that I’d also need to reassemble my room and remake my bed at 7pm when I got home (which, excuse me, how is it 7pm already? Oh, fuck you very much daylight savings time.)And now it’s midnight, but it feels like 11 except my normal 6am wake up will feel like 5 and it’s back to the grind again after zero rest for the weary. Also, I accidentally let my medication lapse for five days. Think it’s at all related? Yeah, neither did it. 😳