|The guilty party.|
Sadly, the 10 year old made the mistake of leaving the door to her room open yesterday and the rest is history. The 10 year old was overly tired so there were tears shed. Poor sweet little Rainbow Dash. We’ll never forget you. Especially since you are so easily replaced courtesy of Amazon Prime.
Despite my deep and abiding sympathy for the tragic loss of Rainbow Dash, her stuffing is still scattered on the landing at the top of our stairs. That’s because it’s been a long couple of days. It’s the end of the school year and 320 million activities seem to be crammed into the last 2 weeks of school. I’m ready to rip my hair out trying to keep track of everything that is going on and everything I need to be doing to be ready for everything that’s coming up.
My memory hasn’t been great the last couple of months. The last two weeks it's been frazzled and nonexistent. I’m now handling issues day by day without any planning ahead. It’s awesome. It also means my sink is periodically full of dishes and this gets on my nerves and adds to the awesome. Yesterday the only thing on the schedule was volleyball. I spent my “free time” catching up on the aforementioned dishes. My life is one giant party. I’d probably feel less worn out if my entire weekend hadn’t been sucked down the black hole of kids’ activities only to lead directly into another busy week.
Sunday was the biggest black hole of them all with my daughter’s first dance recital. They make a big fuss over it and do it at a big theater downtown. She’s been looking forward to it for months and slightly obsessed with everything about it. Her enthusiasm is so sweet it sort of renews my faith in the universe. But the heavy lift getting there was all me. Costumes, stuff to go with costumes, the right color tights for each costume, hair net, bobby pins and pretty much my life’s blood.
|Post recital. Hungry but above average delighted by the entire experience.|
|How happy the make up and the costumes and the dancing make this kid is clearly the motivating force here.|
My 8 year old would like it noted that 8 hours of watching girls in tutus is not his idea of a good time. I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of taking one for the team and that I should buy him a car or something as a token of appreciation. At minimum, he gets dibs on the television remote until September.
|One 10 year old on the edge of her seat for her turn. One bored 8 year old. He got exponentially more bored after the fake iPad battery died an hour into our 8 hour journey.|
|Walk Like an Egyptian number. Duh. It blew her mind that her father and I guessed the name of the song she was dancing to just by seeing the costume.|
Then I went to make everyone something quick to eat before bed and discovered I’d successfully flooded the fridge with water thanks to a Tupperware container with a crack in it. Egg cartons were literally disintegrating from soaking in a pool of water all day and then I successfully flooded the kitchen floor trying to take care of it. Then I went and laid down on a heating pad and told everyone I was done for the day. No one was allowed to need anything else from me. We watched another riveting episode of some stupid Disney channel show and called it a night. Mostly because I was ready to go to bed. So everyone else had to go to bed, too, regardless of how they felt about it.
If only that worked for other things. Sort of like the other mothers that want to keep emailing about terrific new ideas for more end of the year crap we can all add to our overburdened schedules. Like our kids will be scarred for life if we don’t do snow cones at the park Friday afternoon after a full day at Field Day. Because, you know, there won’t be any popsicles or anything at that event. We definitely need snow cones. Much like last week we needed bowling and laser tag. Much like this weekend we need an overnight space camp. I’m officially drowning.
Someone asked me if I signed my daughter up for a volleyball camp that’s coming up in June. I told the other mother that the idea of willingly signing up for anything at this point make my skin crawl. The calendar is full, people. Make it stop. Either that or stick my husband on a plane and send him home from his work trip. Or tell my dogs to stop waking me up at 3 am every night. Or tell my kids to stop dirtying dishes. Even work is super hectic. I'm just so done. Tag me out.