So, I’ve been up since 3 a.m. And I’m still up. It’s 4:46. Why? No clue. I didn’t have any caffeine before bed. In fact, come to think of it, I didn’t even eat supper last night! No aches, no pains. Hormones? Maybe…But no night sweats tonight. (What? You don’t have the occasional bout of night sweats? Please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks she’s headed into menopause already!)
But for whatever reason, I’m up.
Might as well stay up now. Pretty soon my alarm’s going to go off so I can get ready for work.
It’s going to be a long day.
So, just to keep me occupied until I hear my alarm buzz, (Why don’t I just turn it off? Oh, I don’t know…Call me sadistic, but is it wrong to secretly let your alarm go off 10 times as you just hit the snooze because you’re jealous that you’re the only one who has to get up while the rest of your family just SLEEPS IN?) let me walk you through my last 24 hours. Can’t wait, can you? I knew it!
Let’s see…I got up nearly 24 hours ago, showered, got dressed, cleaned up pee from the dog kennel (Isn’t this part of everyone’s morning routine?), carried Boy #3 down the stairs, and went to pick up Jake, the favorite baby-sitter. Brought Jake home. Poured cereal for Boys #2 and #3 and jumped in the car with Boy #1.
Stopped at Wal-Mart to buy the necessary supplies for the day: water, Powerade, batteries for my camera, and tampons.
Stopped at McDonald’s to pick up breakfast. Boy #1 had some sort of sausage/egg/cheese thingy on pancakes or something…I had a coffee and a Fruit & Yogurt parfait. Mmm….Fruit & Yogurt parfait…
Drove 30 minutes to Ames for Boy #1’s 9:40 tee-off time for the Iowa Games Junior Golf Tournament.
Carried Boy #1’s clubs around the course for 9 holes. And for some reason I was THE ONLY parent carrying her boy’s clubs. All the other boys carried their own. Can you say “lazy?” (and “total pushover”?)
I was nervous for #1 because of Monday’s last-place finish in West Des Moines. I knew he wanted to hit the ball like he knows he can, and I held my breath as he teed off on the first hole.
DAMN! Crappy slice in the trees. Eerily reminiscent of Monday. It was then I knew it was going to be a long morning.
I spent the rest of the morning sweating, weighted down like a pack mule, quipping, “Hey, this is supposed to be FUN!” “You’re okay, you’ll get it next time!” “Hey, don’t get so mad at yourself!” “This is supposed to be FUN, remember?” “Okay, if you’re just going to get mad and pout if you don’t do well, we’re not going to do this again!” “Yes, it hit a tree, but it bounced off toward the fairway at least!”
It was a very l o o o o n g morning.
It didn’t help that we were playing with a kid whose dad was a LITTLE bit out of control. His mom? Nice enough. She drove the cart around and kept everyone’s score. But it was one of those situations where you could just tell that this kid was an only child and life completely revolved around him. AND that his dad thinks he’s raising the next Tiger Woods.
Case in point: Tiger Jr. had clubs that my son referred to as “tricked out.” He was pushing his clubs in this luxury push-cart that I’m pretty sure was self-propelled. And we later found the putter he was using at a golf store, and my son said, “Mom, it’s ONLY $170!” For a freakin’ PUTTER! For a TEN-YEAR-OLD! At least Boy #1 got it. “Mom, he’s spoiled!” he said. *Smile.*
I was okay with this dad, however, until he got all huffy with my son because he forgot his ball marker. Seriously, I think he wanted to DQ him or something! Of course, he couldn’t offer to lend us a ball marker. I had to ask his wife if they possibly had an extra one after Boy #1 was nearly in tears about it. Then I began to pay more attention to SuperDad. I noticed that he was paying a little too much attention to everyone else’s strokes. He wanted to make sure that no shot was left uncounted, because, you know, this was the Master’s! One boy whiffed the ball once and I saw SuperDad look at his wife and hold up his finger and say, “That’s a stroke! That’s a stroke!” I know, you’re supposed to count those in a tournament, but for crying out loud, they’re 10, and he was about ready to jump out of his skin making sure that went on the boy’s score, by God!
Then, on the last hole, his son, who was leading the other three in our group, drove the ball in the ditch. I thought the man was going to have an aneurysm. Tiger Jr. got to tee it up again (penalty stroke however), and SuperDad proceeded to tell him what club he should use and whether or not to use a tee. Now, we’re not supposed to give advice to the boys, and ironically, on an earlier hole, SuperDad had informed Grandpa, who was caddying for one of the boys, “You’re really not supposed to give advice.” Hmmm…can you say hypocrite? So I had to chuckle when Tiger Jr. said “Mom, Dad’s telling me not to use this club!” and Mom said, “I thought you weren’t supposed to give advice.” HA!
Fortunately for SuperDad, Tiger Jr. went on to get the lowest score in our foursome. Whew! Life can go on!
As for Boy #1, weeellll, he didn’t do so hot. Once again scored way higher than the other three boys in our group, but didn’t get LAST in the tournament, so we’ve got that going for us!
He really is an excellent golfer but seems to buckle under pressure…Crap. He had to get MY genes instead of his dad’s. Let’s see, Dad was a two-time state wrestling champion and was an All-American in college. Mom? She stood in the outfield during softball games PRAYING the ball wouldn’t come to her and was happy when she got to keep score on the bench. Yeah, I think Boy #1 got screwed on that one.
So after eating at Old Chicago (Don’t tell Dave we ate out twice. I’m pretty sure that’s not in our budget), Boy #1 and I headed home, where I could
rest clean Boy #2’s room. I’ll show you some “after” photos. Granted, if you look closely you will see that I still need to vacuum, but if you would’ve seen the room BEFORE, you would be amazed. The floor has not been exposed for quite some time. How long will it stay this way? That remains to be seen. I’m guessing when I get home from work I’m going to take one look and need a drink.
Then after sweating profusely all morning and afternoon, I decided I should probably shower before heading to Vacation Bible School. Of course, running late as always, I hop in and decide I’d better wash my hair because I’m pretty sure it had been dripping earlier. Jump out of the shower, throw on some clothes, and dry my hair. Scratch that. I mean TRY to dry my hair. Yes, every girl’s nightmare: my hair dryer DIED. Right before I had to leave. Needless to say, I looked REAL pretty for Bible School last night. Fortunately, 3-year-olds don’t judge.
So the next 3 hours was spent taking care of my 5 preschoolers, which I told Husband, was just about like herding cats. It ain’t easy. I can’t tell you how many times I pulled a child out from under chairs or said “Stay with me. STAY WITH ME!” or “No jumping off the stage!” They are all so sweet, but it was the end of a long week for them, and I think they had HAD IT. My goal? Not to lose anyone. If they managed to pick up a little about the Holy Spirit along the way, all the better. One little girl asked me repeatedly if God lived in a cage. I’m still not sure what that was all about…
Then home with two tired little Bible-schoolers and reading extra-long before bed to try to ride out the storm that was crashing and flashing overhead, which worked okay until the lights went out. Fortunately, that didn’t last long. Finally the storm moved past and the boys were able to sleep. And so was I, for a bit. Until I woke up at 3:00 feeling wide awake. Thinking it was maybe because Boy #3 had crawled into bed and was snoring/sleep apnea-ing in my ear, I got up and even tried to sleep in his bed. Which, by the way, is a crib that’s been converted into a toddler bed. So it’s a crib, basically. And I was lying in it. Fortunately, there are no pictures of that.
Then downstairs. I might as well write to all you if I can’t sleep! Thus, this long and rambling post.
Now it 5:36 and time to get ready for work. I just realized that I STILL don’t have a hair dryer. Hmm…I guess it’s going to be Wal-Mart on the way to work and then doing my hair in the bathroom, which is the size of a closet. That should be fun.
But hey, I hope YOU have a Happy Friday!
**UPDATE: I went to Wal-Mart with sopping wet hair, bought a hair dryer, and continued on to work. Lugged inside my computer bag and purse, along with a hair dryer, brush, hairspray, and hair clip. Then entered the bathroom only to discover that there is NO OUTLET. Seriously, what kind of a women’s bathroom has no electrical outlet? So I scrunched the hair as best I could, stuck a clip in my bangs, and sprayed it with hairspray. I’m bringing sexy back!**