I need three day weekends every weekend. I'm convinced that this is the only way that I will ever get anything done AND even remotely entertain the thought of doing something for little 'ol me. This weekend was nothing but work, and I have to admit that I'm tired. Pooped. The only, and I mean only, break that I caught the past couple of days is that Son took naps on schedule and for longer than normal.
Another reason for the blech is that it is really pretty rotten outside. Rainy, cold, and just plain inhospitable. Don't get me wrong, I love fall, and the whole exercise of getting out the sweaters, watching the trees, etc. I just like to transition a bit, to let go of the whole summer fantasy. No transition this time. It's supposed to be in the 70s later this week, but I'm not holding my breath. I do have to say that the one upside to this is that I was able to break out Son's new fall duds, and man, was he stylin' this morning. Brand new Old Navy painter jeans, a red, white and blue football jersey, and his brand new tennies. I think that he even knew that he was cuter than usual. He's still not so into the shoes. He's been barefoot all summer, which I think has been a good thing for helping him on the path to walking, but to put on socks AND shoes is still a bit much for him. Little stinker, I heard a grunt out of him this morning on the drive in, and what do I see in the rear view mirror but Son with his foot up to his mouth, shoelaces in his mouth, and he's tugging. Ugh. I reached back and gave him a little grief, and all I got was giggles. Goofy kid.
Oh, and I got my first initiation into the world of mommy snottiness this weekend. Since Husband was at work on Saturday, Son and I headed out to the mall to try to find him some shoes. I was sick of trying to buy him shoes at places like Target and never having them fit. I knew that there was a StrideRite in the local mall, so we load up after lunch and head out. Pushing the monster stroller into the teeny tiny store, we are greeted by a small mob. Other monster strollers, multiple kids to one family, and three sales people. Great. We go to the back of the store to check out the age appropriate stuff for Son, to patiently wait to get helped. Easy enough. I hear the salespeople calling out names, which strikes me as a little weird, Fuddrucker's yes, shoe store no. After haning out for about ten minutes (during which Son was an absolute angel), I flag down the sales person to ask if she could measure Son.
Salesperson: Did you sign in?
Me: Sign in? (Confused, embarrassed, about to get cranky)
Salesperson: Oh, you need to sign in before I can help you. (Vague gesture towards cash register, where I notice a rudimentary sign in binder).
Me: Uh, OK. (Feeling flustered at this point, and suppressing an urge to run from the store)
Meanwhile, I get the dirty looks from the "experienced," perfectly made up and dressed suburban moms for trying to circumvent the process. You know, the process that isn't readily ascertainable when you walk in the store. Yeah, that one. Apparently, I was supposed to get this piece of information as part of the hormonal package upon giving birth. Must have slept through that particular procedure. I ended up embarrassed, but we walked out $90 poorer (for two freakin' pairs of size 5 1/2 extra wide toddler shoes!) but at least the child will look civilized. It should be noted that I haven't spent that much on shoes for me in a long time.
I'm just tired, a little bored, and just out of it today. I had wanted to pack my gym bag this morning, but I overslept, so that didn't get done. I was sort of looking forward to some treadmill time today too. Husband had to work all weekend, and was sick on top of it, so he's been pretty out of the picture since Friday. When I know that he will be getting home late, I just can't fall asleep, so I got to bed late. Whenever he gets run down like this, he just can't seem to get over it without a major effort. Therefore, I end up on my own. No big deal once in a while, but the world always seems to be at its end when he gets sick. Oh, the humanity! However, when I was feeling the exact same way last weekend, it was no big deal. Pisses me off. It always seems to be a competition, and he always feels worse. Puuh-leeeze. Anyway, I don't anticipate him being a whole lot of help for a whole lot of anything this week, and the whole thing just makes me cranky.
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