Based on the many prior weeks I have living my life, I now feel qualified to predict with a certain degree of accuracy, my upcoming week. It is not so much that my life is predictable, more that my life is dependable. My first prediction is that I’ll be late publishing this post.
Monday: No one will feel like going to school, I won’t have a clue what I’m making for dinner until moments before I approach the stove, and I will vow to be in bed before 10 p.m. that night. One of the rare times I take a bathroom break throughout the day, I will fall in the toilet because the seat was left up. Again. Will have a mild stroke over that. Again. A telemarketer named “Mike” from India will call after I put my smalls to bed and try to sell me furnace and air duct cleaning. He will refuse to answer my questions about his family life, real name or age and he will eventually hang up on me. How rude.
Tuesday: No one will feel like going to school or work today. One or more child will spill their cereal after the milk is added, one or more won’t be able to find pants to wear and getting out the door will only happen through a sea of mis-matched mittens and lost boots. I’ll look around at the carnage left behind and vow to be more organized tomorrow. Breakfast, shower and rush to the library for the story hour program with Miranda. Still no clue about dinner and will worry that I won’t come up with any ideas for same. I will vow to be in bed before 10 p.m. and crawl into bed sometime around midnight. “Jackie” from India will call sometime after 8 p.m. and want my opinion on local consumer issues. I’ll tell her I have no idea of consumerism in India and to please remove our number from her list. She’ll hang up on me. Asshole.
Wednesday: No on will feel like going to school or work today and I’ll feel like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag. I’ll scatterbrain my way around the kitchen making lunches and snacks, open the fridge twelve times to find five items, and will put the wrong sandwich into the wrong bag. I’ll hear about it later from the one who HATES jam. The one who likes jam won’t complain. Around noon, I’ll figure out that my people are going to want to eat dinner again and once again, I don’t have an inspiring idea in my head. I’ll settle on tuna casserole and call it a done deal. I’ll vow to get to bed before 9 p.m. I’ll also vow to lose 30 pounds, exercise daily and take 30 minutes out of my day to read a real book. I’ll make these vows while eating a cookie, sitting on my ass in front of my laptop. The vows are broken in the making. No one will call me from India tonight. I think they are getting bored with me. Figures.
Thursday: No one will feel like going to school or work. I’ll wake up feeling better than I have in days, full of positivity and motivation. I’ll whip through lunch prep and already be planning the evening dinner. This energy will persist until I walk into the living room and am met with a mountain of clean laundry to fold. I’ll instantly need a nap, a need which will be unrequited. I’ll back away from Mount Laundry and close the doors tightly behind me. I’ll decide to tackle emptying the dishwasher. Maybe Mount Laundry will shrink down to a hill ‘o laundry by the time I’m done with the dishes. Finish unloading the dishwasher and will peak into the living room. Nope, still a mountain. I’ll come back to it later. In the evening, “Tyler” from India will call and advise me that my computer has been compromised. I’ll tell “Tyler” to ‘suck it and fuck off’, ’cause you don’t mess with my kids, my family or my computer. This time, I hang up on him. Feels far less satisfying that frustrating them into hanging up on me.
Friday: We all want to play hooky and have a three-day weekend, but we don’t. Boys to school, Mr. K.B. to work and Miss M off to her library program. Afterwards, I’ll bribe her with healthy snacks in order to get some of the grocery shopping done. She’ll undo the safety belt and stand up in the cart, giving me an instant coronary. She’ll think this is hilarious. We won’t agree on this point. We’ll tussle over her car seat, I’ll put her out of the van and tell her to walk home. She’ll see things my way and co-operate while having her straps done up. I vow that she’ll be in bed before 7 p.m. I use hot glue on the toilet seat and stick a ‘Girls Only’ sign on the door. At dinner, someone will knock over their entire cup of water and use all the napkins in the house to dry it up. We’ll have a movie night and eat popcorn and tuck the smalls in the for the night at 9 p.m. just as the phone rings and “Candy” from India calls looking to speaking to Mr. K.B. about windows and doors. I ask her what she’s wearing and how many kids she has. I ask her for her phone number and if she’ll email us a picture of herself wearing nothing but assless chaps and a baseball cap. She threatens to take me off their call list. I think I hear her wretch. I’m still not the asshole though, I say please and thank you throughout the call and am only mildly disappointed when she calls me ‘sick’ and hangs up. Winning.
So, this is pretty much a snapshot of how my week will go. I am going to guess that it is accurate to within 75%. I may fall in the toilet more than once.