This is how awful my Sunday went. It ended up lookin’ like this:
It started just peachy. Nathan cleaned the kitchen, which is worthy of its own post since this happens so infrequently.
After realizing that a new pair of pants to go running in was going to set me back $80-100, we headed to Old Navy. I think this was a wise choice, since dropping a Benjamin on a glorified pair of sweatpants seems utterly obscene. Unfortunatly for me, this required me to look at myself in the mirror in what amounted to a pair of tights that didn’t have feet… There is still a way to go before I’m gonna turn any heads (for positive reasons) in my new black pants. All in all, I’m fine with it. I’m a mom. My dad would go to the gym in skin-tight bike shorts and a tshirt – which would completly horrify me as a teenager. Now I get it. Look, ladies and gents; I don’t even have poop on these pants or boogers in my hair. What’s a flabby ass, really, between friends? I look fabulous.
Then things started to go wrong. The Brazillian steakhouse (yes, STEAKhouse), where we planned to gorge ourselves on thier spectacular salad bar,was closed. No matter. We were already out, so since driving back the six minutes to the house would have made too much sense, we drove all over Colorado Springs looking for a place to eat. I was getting restless. The kids were getting restless. Nae and I were both turning down Grumpy Avenue when we finally stopped at a new place we had heard about but hadn’t been to. Nothing seemed appetizing, so instead of packing up and heading to Jason’s Deli, I insisted we stay. Which resulted in Nathan pouting and not eating and me loosing my cool in the car on the way back home. Not one of my finer moments.
“Mom, since Dad and I are going to Toys R Us by ourselves, does that mean you’ll stop yelling at him?” Aaaand now I feel like shit.
I stayed behind to put Alice to bed. After two hours, I gave up; she was not sleeping. I was going to start dinner but realized I only had enough tin foil to bake a potato the size of a grape. No baked potatoes tonight. At this point, the day was still salvageable.
Then the garage door fell off.
Yes, fell OFF.
I’m not even sure how that happens. Nathan has tackled plumbing and electrical, but fiddling with the springs on garage doors – we’d normally leave that to the pros. They have been known to literally KILL people (springs, not garage door pros). I’m sure our neighbors were delighted at Nathan’s booming, colorful rendition of “Fuck You, You Motherfucking Piece of Shit.” He received rave reviews when he performed it on The Great White Way. Just trying to bring quality theater to the masses, people.
After watching thirty YouTube videos on the interworkings of garage doors, a trip to the hardware store and six hours, the door was back in business. And he didn’t even lose an eye, much less get himself killed. I’m so proud. And tremendously relieved.
By the time I wrestled the kids to bed and Nathan had reheated dinner, I was officially cashed. I climbed up on the stepstool to get the only bottle of wine in the house from the top of the fridge. I hauled my weary tush to the basement to get a wine glass out of storage. I don’t even like wine. Since I have been pregnant or nursing for the last two years, this was way out of the norm for me. (I officially stopped nursing Alice on Friday. My boobs feel like a pair of mini watermelons.) I grabbed a bowl of fruit; realizing that eating grapes and drinking wine isn’t far off from dipping a piece of brie in nacho cheese. Oh… Cheese… Sigh.
“I’ll be in the tub.” I grabbed my glass of debauchery and headed upstairs.
And so ended a pretty crappy day. This week has GOT to be better than yesterday. I mean; it totally will. Gracing the streets in my new running “pants” will bring some humor to this world. And drinking those three sips of wine before dumping the rest down the drain? The rest of the week has got to taste better than that, too.