moving

Last week was our first week of spring break. I love having my kids home. I love watching them play, hanging out with them for hours with no schedule. I love just being with them. The first week of spring break was fabulous.

This second week is going to break me.

I was up at seven this morning and I had to get reasonably cute so that I could tape for Momversation. Then I had to tape again, in the meantime the kids were making themselves breakfast and somehwhat destroying the house. They seem totally incapable of rinsing their own cereal bowls, which is not that much of an issue now that I have a new dishwasher, but it is an issue because Sparky the hired assassin will jump on the counter, lick the bowl clean and promptly throw up.

Which is disgusting, but not nearly as disgusting as when Junior comes loping around the corner for the delicacy known as cat vomit. This is all before 10am.

By 10am Alexander’s friend has come over to play, they are undecided if they want to be inside or out. This can only mean they leave the sliding door to the back yard open 800 times, and I’m constantly yelling, “there are bugs coming in.” And now I’m that yelling mom and Alexander turns into that kid who ignores the mom who always yells and I’m not living the life I want to live.

We leave the house at quarter to twelve, well, we leave three times actually because we keep getting to the corner and remembering what we forgot. We drop Jane off at volleyball practice where the girls are happy to see each other, except a few who can’t get along. I feel for the coach.

The two boys and I run to the bank and then to two open houses. Remember the move? One is a mistake because I’m too frazzled to bother using the navigation so I’m all buggy with my realtor but in reality I’m two blocks away from the house I’m supposed to be at. I pull up to the house that Doug recommended I see, get out of the car and start to walk up the hilly driveway. I realize I don’t want to walk up a hilly driveway today or any other day. I skip looking at the house.

The boys want Subway for lunch and since it’s a playdate I agree to take them there, but we pass Carneys on the way. They want to eat in that godforsaken train. Defeated before I begin, I say yes, and one has two hamburgers, one has two hot dogs, and they each have an order of fries. They ask me for thirds but I tell them they aren’t hungry. They believe me, and I pray that I’m not starving them but instead putting off an eating contest where one is bound to vomit, like the cat.

We race from Carneys to the park where Alexander has a pitching lesson, the friend and I drop him off and run back to fetch Jane from volleyball, it’s been two hours. From volleyball we see another house and I think I like it. I don’t love it because I see flaws, but I see flaws in everything. The bones are good, it’s a U Shaped house with nice floors and new kitchens and bathrooms. They’re pretty, but they’ll look dated in 10 years. They’ll be like my mother’s avocado refrigerator in 1982. My realtor tells me I look good. I thank him and silently congratulate myself on finding a realtor who compliments me.

We leave the house, and run to Alexander, it’s been almost an hour, his pitching lesson should be over. Alexander hops in the car and the kids start arguing. It’s an old argument. Alexander things the Ferrari Enzo is an instant classic. Jane thinks it will be passe by the time Alexander is allowed to drive. I drive humming along to the horrible music they’ve forced me to endure on Hits 1. Pink tells me that I’m Fucking Perfect and a tiny part of me actually believes her.

3pm. All that activity puts me at 3pm.

I miss school, I don’t work this hard when they’re in school.