Wednesdays warrant a Levatol. Ditto Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and most times on the weekends when I’m with the kids (which in short, is whenever I’m in the house), because during these times, I can feel my stress increasing and blood pressure rising. By the end of the week, I’m beat.
Like I previously mentioned, Wednesdays the younger children don’t have school. It’s been deemed “Activities Day.” Yes, activities—plural. And while I don’t want to bore you, Internet, with the lurid details of this day, let me just say that between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm, Kid A, B and/or C have Karate lessons, gymnastics lessons, tennis lessons, piano lessons and cello lessons. It’s magnificent, yes (for them), but in between dropping off, picking up and waiting for Kid A, B, and/or C at each of these fantastical character building, life-flourishing, extracurricular activities, still lies the necessity to make their breakfast, tie their shoes, do their laundry, make their lunch, wipe their face and wipe their….hands (what were you thinking?! Lauren doesn’t do bathroom duties!). I tutor them, read to them, entertain them, discipline them and inhibit the desire to strike them. Somewhere in the mix, I attempt to meet my own needs: shower, pee, and brush my teeth--you know--general hygiene.
Sure, I’ll continue. One day, Kid A goes to this school, Kid B goes to that school and Kid C goes to morning tutoring. The next day, Kid A goes to that school, Kid B goes to this school and Kid C has afternoon tutoring. This day you drop them off at the new school and pick them up at the old school, but the next day, it’s the opposite. Two days, they eat lunch at home. The other two, they eat at school. Thursdays, the neighbor kid comes home for lunch with them. Monday afternoons (you’ll love this one, I promise), Kid A and Kid B go to school together. After one hour, pick up Kid B to take to the Psycho-motrice for a fifty minute session (where he does nothing but color and play Wii) then take Kid B back to school. Pick up Kid A and Kid B for lunch after 30 minutes. Take Kid B back to school but Kid A to a different school in a different town. Apple, there should be an “App” for that.
So here’s my gripe: Why can’t things be simple like they were in the old days? Like the days when the world was flat. When a ball of Silly Putty could pass the time. When you could look up a recipe for oatmeal cookies and not be faced with 2,030,000 Google results (yes, I checked). When you opened up a box outside of your house for all of your mail instead of our now email, voicemail, texts, Facebook, Twiiter, and whatever else I left out. A time so simple that Kid A, Kid B and Kid C were taken to a after-school facility (that starts with a Y and ends with a MCA), where they could do their tennis, their karate, their gymnastics, their piano, their cello, and their whining (snacks included) all in one.
Somewhere in life, the world became full of possibilities and we decided to attempt every possibility at every different location because we want the best. We want to stay in formed. We want to stay connected. We diagnosed ourselves with ADHD.
So as a connoisseur of my own needs and lover of my own life, when Friday evening hit, I un-regretfully said “No” to babysitting, to staying home, to giving up my time in France (somewhere in California, my therapist is proud). I signed out of my email, turned off my lap top and went out with friends. I enjoyed a glass of red as my aperitif, a glass of white with my dinner, and espresso with dessert. We walked along the Rhone River, listened to music, had cocktails aboard a Peniche, and laughed about nonsense. It gave into those brief moments when you’re caught off guard thinking “Wow, this is my life. I’m really lucky.”
It’s all very simple: Summer is approaching, I’m living in Europe and I have some really great friends to pass the days with. It’s time to give up the stress and give into some pleasure. Time to stop and smell the roses, the tulips, and the Nutella crepes. Eat salmon instead of Silmfast; take walks in the parks instead of runs on the treadmill; frequent the monuments, the music festivals and the nearby beaches. Read for pleasure. Walk to explore. Frequent an ice cream or two. Then, when the sun starts to set on Sunday night around 10 pm, come inside, exhale and realize that now, combating the week doesn’t seem so discouraging.
You can have your soapbox back, now.
- Friday and Saturday warranted a Sunday PJ day
- My dad fixed my broken Ipod over the phone. It's good to have Lady Gaga back in my life.
- Alicia Keys concert on Friday with my Lyon PIC!
- My friends. My family. Their advice.
Happy Birthday Stephanie Cuttler!