Friday, January 6, 2012

Friday night FAIL

Friday night.  No plans.  Kids at home.  Husband is off at a decent hour.  The evening had lots of potential.  Maybe we'll go out to dinner, see a movie, run to the store, find something fun to do...

Somehow, it all went to crap.

I'm still trying to process it.

The hubs calls at 5pm, says he's headed home (this is early for him) and instead of going to ride his mountain bike alone, he's going to come home to see us.  Maybe we can all go on a family bike ride?  Sure, sounds good to me.  

An hour later, he gets here.  I say, Hey, um... It's dark outside.  Just so you know.  He says, Yeah, I guess we can't ride, then.   Maybe we can go swimming at the rec center (indoor pool).  Okay, sounds good.  I have an errand I need to run at some point.  

Mr. Sarcasm rears his ugly head.  Oh, well thanks for telling me.  I'm so glad we plan things so well.  If I'd have know that...  Blah, blah.   And just like that, I snap and do some screaming.

That blows over, and I make dinner: sea scallops on a bed of fresh baby spinach with a homemade vinaigrette, and tomatoes caprese.  Not enough food for all of us, though, so we throw some burgers on the grill, too.

The kids are complaining that we aren't swimming while we're eating.  Who did you think was going to feed you at the pool?  It doesn't occur to them that if we'd gone straight to the pool we would have been hungry.  It also doesn't occur to them that rinsing plates is within their purview, so they gripe some more.

It gets really ugly when I bring up the fact that the ungrateful wretches don't deserve to go swimming because their rooms and bathroom are in deplorable condition.  The girl child goes into head spinning Linda Blair mode, raging about the injustice of it all, and she somehow manages to use the fact that her room is filthy as a legitimate reason that she shouldn't have to clean it before she goes.  WTF?  Meanwhile, the boy child is busily working away on his remote control car, somehow thinking that he's going to go swimming and complete his car work, simultaneously.

I wish I was as good at denying reality as are these people with whom I live.

So, screaming is happening, mechanic work is happening, and I finish cleaning up after all of them and pour a glass of wine.  I sit down on the couch next to the man who professes to want to go swimming but is in his undershirt and boxers working on an RC car, instead.  He says, Really?? Okay, well I guess we're not going.  

Wha-huh? "Really" what?  Not going where?  What are you talking about?  

I guess we're not swimming, then.  You're drinking.  

Like I'm clutching a fifth of tequila in desperation, or something. Geez. I'm having a glass of wine. This is what do.  Have you read my blog?  [I'm not really sure that he does, mind you. I suspect he may, but one never knows with this man.]

So, of course, the most logical thing is for me to throw a screaming fit.  Again.  So what if I'm having a fucking glass of wine?  I can have a glass of wine before I get in a swimming pool.  What about you?  When did you plan on leaving?  It's 7:30 and you're in your fucking underwear being an RC mechanic!  WTF?? 

With that bit of maturity, I take myself off to my room for a time out.

Why is it that we never see it coming, ladies?  You turn into this raging bitch, and you don't wonder if maybe you're about to start your period, because you're sure it's just that everyone around you has suddenly turned into complete morons and you've just lost patience with them, as any rational person would.  Then, just as you start to think, Hey, maybe I'm-- Yep.  There it is.  And it suddenly all makes sense.

Grace comes in to see me and wants to know if I'm going swimming.  I tell her no and that she should stay home with me and finish her room.  She exits very ungracefully.  Through the closed door, I can hear her Linda Blair alter ego in full-on crazy mode, screaming at her father while he's trying to rationalize with her.  I know that at this point it's useless for me to even be in the same room with her.  Then, the boy child starts whining pitifully.  Apparently he's now been asked to do something to which he strongly objects.

I lay on my pillow, staring dazedly at the ceiling, trying in vain to listen to an audiobook and drown them out and wondering what the hell happened to my Friday night.

She comes back in, as if the screaming I could clearly hear a few minutes ago never happened, and informs me that she pick up what Daddy said to pick up and she's going swimming.  Okay??  Okay, whatever.

They're gone now, frolicking in the pool.  I can't say that I wouldn't enjoy swimming right now, because I love to swim.  I'd love to be in the water right now.  The sad truth is this: I couldn't wrap my head around getting in the car with them to drive the one mile to the rec center.  I didn't trust any of us to be sane enough for the trip to be worth it.

Total Friday night FAIL...  Who do I talk to about a do over??

And why am I airing my insanity to you people?  You're out there enjoying your Friday night, right?  Well, maybe not.  Maybe you had a Friday night FAIL, too, and you feel better now knowing it's not just you.  You're welcome.  

1 comment:

  1. Thanks, I love this, and yes, I do feel better...even though when I'm reading it is ironicially a friday morning. A foreshadowing of my evening, I'm sure...sans kiddos.