So I am.
Saturday was a beautiful day. Brian and I had a rare opportunity to be outside the house, without children, together, in the city. Those four things never happen at the same time. I think the last time we did that for more than like 3 hours was....maybe last year?
So the story is that a co-worker (and friend) gifted Brian a pair of tickets to the White Sox game. They were playing the Yankees. I have never seen the Yankees play. It's Derek Jeter's last season with the Yankees. It's Paul Konerko's last season with the the White Sox. Brian asked who I thought he should take. The cheaper answer would have been one of the kids. The problem was that they would not, in any way, understand the significance of the game. I decided I was the answer to the question.
It's our anniversary next week and so we decided to treat ourselves. My sister-in-law graciously watched the kids for 3 hours and then our regular babysitter (who lives next door) stayed for the last 3 hours.
Thinking about the money we were spending hurt my head. At the same time, it was an opportunity we didn't think we could pass up.
It was a beautiful day for a game and I'll admit that stepping onto the midway inside the park made my throat catch and eyes tear up. I don't know why I have this reaction. I am not a huge fan of sports in general but I love going to sporting events. I have never seen the Bulls or Hawks play because I am not independently wealthy and don't have that kind of free time. Mostly I've been to baseball games and I enjoy being inside a baseball stadium. There's something about the energy, I don't know.
We had a really nice time together. I still love my husband after 9 years of marriage and we still laugh and enjoy our time together. It was pleasant to not spend most of the day being peppered by a million inane questions (though that resumed immediately upon arriving home). I liked listening to XRT, to having conversations that didn't have repeating themes ("when are we going to go to 'wake beach'?" "Is 'wake beach' open yet?" "Will you make a picnic for us when we go to 'wake beach'?" "Should I bring my goggles to 'wake beach'?"). As an aside, there is a man-made lake near us with a splash pad, Culver's, paddleboats, canoes, fishing, etc. The official name is Three Oaks Recreation Center. My kids call it "lake beach"but Jeremy still mispronounces "l" and so it comes out "wake beach."
I knew we would be doing stuff with the kids the rest of the weekend and so I didn't feel guilty about being away from them. I checked my phone compulsively, though. I should say that both my SIL and my babysitter are incredibly competent women. My concern is always that my kids have somehow harmed the caretaker and said caretaker is about to lose their mind. I received no texts and therefore was able to enjoy our time away.
Today was a good day but didn't go as planned. The plan was to go to church (we've been visiting a church on the north side of town), go to a local park (near church) that has a splash pad, go to the store to return a movie and get milk and hoagie rolls, go home.
We are, however, not used to going to church in our hometown and we got thrown off. To start, I forgot the sunscreen at home. Meanwhile, the day was heating up quite a bit and both Brian and I were wearing pants. We also hadn't eaten breakfast, so we were both ready to start gnawing on the first tree we came across.
So home we went, but before that I decided to punish myself by going to Jewel. I should explain that I do not shop on the weekend. I loathe being among throngs of people. It stresses me out quite a bit. Dummy that I am, I was at Jewel Saturday night and completely forgot hoagie rolls and milk.
Into the breach I went and by the end of my trip, I was ready to pull all of my hair out by the roots.
First, I didn't grab a shopping cart. No need, I thought, since I only need a few things. So I ended up walking around the store in uncomfortable shoes (because I have no comfortable and attractive summer shoes) carrying two gallons of milk, two small bags of Cheetos, a bag containing three donuts and a bag of hoagie rolls.
Then...checkout. Self-checkout, to be specific. There were lines everywhere and I tried to pick the shortest. I then proceeded to pick the shortest line with the slowest....checkout...ever. It was as if the people had never done self-checkout before. They had a bunch of unique produce items that had no PLU code stickers. Each rack of ribs was in a separate produce bag and they had to peel back the bag each time they tried to scan it. Then the mom went to get a PLU code for the teeny, tiny cucumbers and the scale wasn't working properly. Then the mom said, "I'll pay" and proceeds to regard the electronic payment apparatus as if it were some strange device from outer space. There are only four options for payment and it seemed to take her 5 minutes to read them all.
Meanwhile, the line is growing behind me and my patience is shrinking. Finally it's my turn to check out. The self-checkout doubts that I've put the gallon of milk on the belt....both gallons. The hoagie rolls won't scan. I hurry and enter the PLU code for the donuts.
Then it's time to pay.
If you recall, dear readers, in December I started using cash only for all of my transactions. I will only use the debit card if I have discussed the use of the card with Brian and I have deposited money to cover the charge. I carry around a small accordion coupon organizer that has envelopes with "groceries," "gas," "Kate," etc., written on them. I also have started to accumulate change. In some instances, I have used $3 worth of change to pay my total. (I have never read Dave Ramsay's books or attended his seminars--I heard a lot about it and took a stab at an approximation of what he talks about.)
Of course today, all of the coins were suddenly refusing to come out of my accordion thing. I've transformed into that annoying old lady who uses 85 pennies to pay because she doesn't want any extra change.
To top it off, the child of the customer in line behind me was creeping on me. Normally I don't think I would mind but I was flustered because a 5-minute trip to the store had taken 15 (even though I confessed to the customer that had been ahead of me I had nowhere to go...I freaking had someplace to go). I was flustered that we were now going to be at the splash pad during Doug's nap instead of before his nap. I was frustrated that the pair of shoes I was wearing was hurting my feet. I was frustrated that 15 freaking cents could not be pried out of my accordion organizer.
I am proud to report that I didn't snap at him to back the eff up, though I wanted to. The 15 cents and 9 dollars finally found there way to the correct receptacle and out I went.
I. Hate. Shopping. On. Weekends.
There's no two ways about it. Not only does grocery shopping stress me out because the cost of everything is skyrocketing, I hate shopping in general. I am not fond of window shopping, I avoid major centers of shopping, I do everything in my power to bypass the task altogether.
So as I'm walking out to the van, my blood pressure and frustration level are through the roof. I open the van door (after having to bark at my husband that the sliding door won't open if the van is not in park) to a wall of questions from my kids. "Aren't we going to the splash pad?" "Did you get us donuts?" And on and on.
This frustration isn't even hormonal. Normally the irritability would be a clear sign of an impending visit but today it was just one tiny thing after another. I was just a woman on the brink and that 15 minutes of hell was enough to send me over the edge. Luckily, it didn't include a YouTube worthy video entitled "heavyweight lady freaks out at grocery store," or something close to that.
I did not have a Jerry Maguire moment.
Now I can't sleep and have already intercepted Jeremy twice as he's tried to crawl in bed with us. The headache isn't helping the cause, nor is the iced coffee I had a nagging suspicion was consumed too late in the day. Maybe someday I'll learn.
The splash pad was fun and the kids were out by 8:30. Considering the fact that bargaining and stalling usually means the noise dies down as late as 10:00, I consider the outing a success.
Dear God, I am hoping going to "wake beach" has a similar such effect, as I suspect I'll be falling asleep on the way home (it's a 5-minute drive). I also suspect my next post won't be until Tuesday.
Until then.
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