Long weekends when you have three kids under ten are… different.
The day began with the sun shining in my window at Stupid O’Clock, because daylight saving time is balls. At 5:56AM, George came in and physically pried my eyelids open with his fingers, yelling something about “McDonald’s Pokemon stuffies”, which are not a thing. He claimed he had a bunch in his bed, but he couldn’t find them, and he wanted me to find them so he could play with them. I walked him back to bed, tucked him in, and moved all of his stuffies into a pile. He promptly snuggled up to the pile and fell asleep.
Eventually we went for groceries, and somehow on the drive there I developed an intense migraine – the kind that makes you nauseated and woeful. Then the store was full of aggressive and bitter old people. I don’t know what they were so mad about, but man, were they pissed. I dry-swallowed three Advil in the pharmacy aisle and managed to get through the store.
Then at the checkout, we got in line behind two older women. One was chatting cheerfully with the cashier as he rang up her purchases. The one directly in front of us was wearing spike heels, bright red lipstick, and a sour expression. Her groceries were all unloaded onto the belt. Suddenly she Freaked The Fuck Out. She started flinging everything back into the cart while ranting I don’t have time for THIS and I’ve had JUST ABOUT ENOUGH, and then she backed up without looking, nearly flattening George. Like, I had to pull him out of the way.
So I snapped at her, because honestly? Our grocery store has a lot of elderly people in it, and I am always hyper-aware of where my kids are, and am constantly impressing upon them the importance of spatial awareness and being polite. This time it was totally not his fault, so I laid right into her. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit.
After lunch we went to get George some new sneakers, because last summer’s were quite literally falling apart. I insisted that he takes a size 9, because the falling-apart ones are a size 8 so sure, one size up, totally fine, makes sense. I wedged two pairs of 9s on his feet before I capitulated and got his size checked, and of course he’s a 10.
My kid was walking around in shoes two sizes two small for the last month because I AM A GOOD MOMMY. Now his feet look fucking enormous to me. It’s like he’s wearing clown shoes. And every time he says I love my new big boy shoes I feel just a little bit worse.
Then we went to Old Navy, because not only was George wearing shoes that were way too small, Harry grew approximately one million inches over the winter and all of last year’s shorts are so snug as to be probably dangerous. The heat in Old Navy was a good 5 degrees too warm, and everyone was sweaty. They were having a 50% off sale, and as I said to Michael, I’m sure all the employees were so happy to learn that they’d spend the long weekend sweating it out with crowds of people trashing all the displays.
I tried to buy a pair of workout pants, and there was something desperately wrong with them. The waist & thighs were huge. HUGE. I could have fit one of my kids in there with me. But the lower legs and ankles were so small I couldn’t barely get them on. If I were going to rob a jewelry store I would totally wear those pants, because I could just drop things down inside and they would never, ever fall out the bottom.
Finally we headed to the garden centre, because every year we buy vegetable seedlings for our garden. Some year, when the dayhome closes and we have the space, we’ll start our own seeds indoors, maybe. Or maybe not! Kent’s garden centre had healthy-looking veggie seedlings at the insane price of $1.64 for a six-pack.
That greenhouse was lord of the flies. It was the village of the damned. It was like a sample sale, if TV and rom-coms haven’t lied to me about what those look like. Shopping carts were weapons. An older lady was losing her shit in the aisle of tomato seedlings. We grabbed what we could and our garden will be a rather strange assortment this year.
The kids industriously dug up the big garden, clearing away last year’s dead plants and turning the soil. Even George took a turn with the garden claw, not deterred by the fact that it’s bigger than he is. A friend stopped by unexpectedly and stayed for supper, and even though I hadn’t cleaned the house or even planned for an extra guest it turned out just fine. (Lesson there, self. Calm the hell down.) Then my brother invited us over; I ended the day under the darkening sky, toasting marshmallows while my two older boys ran around with their cousin and I cuddled my two year old niece in my lap.
So it turned out well, after all. And I still have two days of weekend left!