When Life Hands You Lemons, Let Them Eat Turkey

“The key to happiness is letting every situation be what it is, instead of what you think it should be.”

-Mandy Hale

So here it is the start of our week! The girls are out of school, my husband is finally home from his business trip, and I get to lounge in my jammies and finally get back to writing my blog. AAhhhh . . .

Except that the business trip that Ray went on happened to be to a little town named Las Vegas. And when he came back he kind of gave me the impression that we needed to start not spending any money. I mean, I could have gotten it wrong:

(Me, on the phone with a friend) “Yeah, I’ll probably put the kids in yoga camp at least one day so I can get some stuff done.”

“NO CAMPS! Waste of money!” (Ray grumbling) “Need to start cutting back on all this ridiculousness.”

(Back to the phone) “Oooookkk . . . I take that back.”

So the girls are going to be with me all day, every day.

No breaks.

So, I can’t go work out during the day at all (no childcare), no spending money as much as possible (no camps), and as for writing my blog? I tried getting up in the quiet of this morning, and within five minutes, my eight-year-old came bouncing in the office chirping about the rain outside (no solitude).

Sure, after Ray gets home I can go to my workout, but he’s been so stressed out lately that the last thing I want to do is puff-puff-pass the chickens and dash out the door. By the end of the day, they kind of get into that altered state of crazy that makes me want to just curl up in a locked bathroom and rock back and forth. Or run screaming from the house. And I just feel guilty about the latter.

There are people who do this all the time. I’ll figure it out.

Monday

Already it starts.

My friend asks me to join her at the museum for the Lego exhibit. Sure! Let’s go online and get tickets ahead of time to avoid lines . . .

Total for the three of us to go see plastic toy brick sculptures? $80.

“No, sorry . . .I forgot we have this . . .thing.”

Need to start cutting back on all this ridiculousness.

Yeah, that thing.

It’s raining pretty hard. I think we’ll stay inside and make our own museum. Take that, Reuben H. Fleet.

Tuesday

Alexa has a playdate, Lucy and I are hiking one of five local trails in the area. If you make it to all five peaks, you get a pin. It’s that damn t-shirt all over again, and now she “has to have it” (her mother’s daughter?).

The last trail we hit, she did great on. On the way up, that is. . . biffed it three times on the way back down. I handed one very torn up piece of an eight-year-old back to Ray that evening, feeling like tiger mother of the year.

So, of course we were going back. Duh.

I also understood this to be the shortest of the trails, and is what they call a “moderate” climb.

Depends on what your definition of “is” is.

Because this trail went straight up, with stairs that stretched to the heavens. Recent rains had created these rocky ruts we had to dodge constantly (while simultaneously dodging various wildlife scat). And it totally psyched us out at the top, because just when you thought you were done, nuh-uh. You still had to traverse the crest to the actual top. Which we needed to evidence our completion of the climb.

kwaay-paay

We can cross that one off the list now, though. No spills this time, either, thanks to my neighbor’s generous lending of a pair of walking sticks that Lucy used nearly the whole way.

Did you buy those things just for this?!”

“No, Ray. We borrowed them from Diane.”

“Oh.”(Deflated- Abby 1, Ray 0.)

Wednesday

Getting out, getting out, getting out. Going to Sea World today. Joining the throngs of tourists.

Two hours later, I’m at the end of my rope. The love/hate sister thing is getting old.

“Alexa, you can’t do that, Mommy said!”

“MMMMM Lucy! I was just . . .!”

“No, Mommy said! I’m telling! Mommy? Alexa . . .”

“I heard you. Both of you. I’m sitting right here.”

“Lucy? Remember when Mommy had to pee in the woods?”

We aren’t getting into that, but suffice it to say one should never drink a 16oz Diet Red Bull before attempting to hit a trail.

(Both laughing hysterically)

“And remember? Remember when Daddy didn’t pee on her, so she had to pee on her leg because of the jellyfish?”

Cabo. Still haven’t forgiven Ray.

(Both laughing hysterically)

Ow! Mommy?! Alexa bit me!”

“You pushed me first!

I’m telling!”

Heading home while only half of San Diego knows my potty exploits.

Thursday

Thanksgiving!! My first Turkey Trot, so I’ve burned off my share of pumpkin pie.

We are also celebrating my daughter’s 5th birthday. But . . .I think the sun and sweat melted my memory, because I realize that I forgot her cake two hours before we are supposed to leave for my parent’s house for Thanksgiving.

What’s in a cake? Flour? Sugar? Maybe I’ll just make one . . .how hard could it be?

So, fact: bundt cakes are supposed to cool all the way down before attempting to de-pan them. Otherwise, all you get are cake bits. Although, fact: you can take these cake bits and smoosh them into a regular square pan and cover with homemade frosting and rainbow sprinkles and glitter. Rainbow sprinkles and glitter are key.

(Gasp) “Mommy?! Is that my cake? It’s so pretty, mommy, thank you!”

Score.

Friday through Sunday

River.

Why? I don’t know. It’s pretty cold, Ray is in a bad mood (probably his lo-carb diet combined with work stress), and since the kids can’t go out in the water, they will likely be bouncing off the walls.

Plus side? I get to be a creative cook (Ray: “Please figure out something different from eggs and bacon.”) and not have to go in the water. Both kids ride their bikes now, and I also get them to hike a trail by insinuating that they could find a hidden treasure out there.

Of course, Mother-of-the-Year I would not be without guiding my oldest to walk right on top of a fire-ant hill. While she’s wearing sandles.

 

So, finally home, I’m now gearing up for Monday. Back to school, back to routine, back to the reality that Christmas and Christmas break are right around the corner.

NO CAMPS. TWO WEEKS.

Eh, what’s seven more days? How bad could it be?

Stay. Tuned.

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