It's been a weekend. It could have been fun, but the husband is sick, the kiddos have been a little more monstrous than angelic, and I was feeling a wee bitty stressed-out.
Friday night we were suppose to go to the family Shabbat dinner at the preschool, but after a week of feeling under the weather I couldn't get my act together to bring a potluck dish and be perky-nice-to-meet-you-lets-make-small-talk mama. Not to mention I would need to spend the entire evening trying to avoid one of Zachary's (unnamed) teacher's who quite frankly frightens me by her ability to direct 35 year old parents around like they are a herd of four year olds. So we stayed in.
Saturday morning was the Dan Zanes concert. We booked this months ago. We anxiously anticipated rocking out with our kids at an 11am concert on campus. It sounded fun. Truth be told, it was only sort-of-okay. Dan Zanes remains a favorite of ours when it comes to kid-friendly music, but I am not sure if our children were up for the excitement of seeing him live and in-person. I say this with sarcasm. For the first twenty minutes Zack sat in his assigned seat with a vacant-I'm-bored look on his face, and Evan just tried to squirm off of Daddy's lap. Zack and I finally ventured down towards the stage where there was a preschool dance party in full swing. I sat and watched as Zack stood on the dance floor staring at the stage only to break out in an occasional spastic dance move. Unlike some of the other tots and children, Zack just seemed under-impressed. I wanted to shake him. Remember how for months you used to listen to "Catch That Train"every single night at bedtime? You should be in awe. Nope. The outing ended with an ill fated picnic lunch. Think melt downs on all fronts.
This morning started out with another heart to heart chat about the family finance situation, leaving me feeling depressed and wondering if I had any organs that I could sell on the black market. I then had a 9:45am conference call and worked for approximately 1.5 hours, which annoyed my husband who likes to remind me that I am working for peanuts. Which I am. I am well aware that I am making a small fraction of what I am worth. So why am I doing it? Well first off although I am not earning what I *could* be earning, it is something. It will pay for a few gallons of milk and a bonus latte every now and then. But there is more. I like it. I like working. It feels good. It reminds me that I am skilled and knowledgeable in my profession, even though I can't seem to nab one of those high-paying contracts. It helps me to feel more confident in my abilities. I can do more then sing nursery rhymes and arrange play dates, not that that isn't important work, but this way I get to use other talents as well. It has convinced me that when the time comes it won't be such a bad thing to re-enter the workplace more fully. I don't know if the husband quite gets all of that. (Hello husband, now you know.)
We managed to squeeze in some family time at the marina today, which was pleasant enough, but then it was on to the mundane tasks of grocery shopping and laundry, endless, endless laundry.
So it just wasn't one of those weekends that left me feeling...refreshed. It was just a weekend.