Let me tell you about my weekend.
First of all, it was the first weekend in three weeks when I didn’t need to be at work for part of Saturday, without pay. Next Saturday I get to put in four hours, unpaid. So I’m really savoring two full days of home time, family time, me time.
With the long commute to my new job, I’m so tired by the time I get home on weekdays that almost nothing gets done around the house, unless somebody else does it. And that’s pretty hit or miss. So I made the most of my two full days – laundry, floors, dusting, groceries. Managed to cover the grey roots yesterday and even got a haircut this morning (one of my most hated tasks).
I realized last night that the cold Husband has been nursing by sleeping nearly round the clock for about 60 hours (with short breaks to moan and complain) was creeping up on me, too. And yet I got up this morning, ran to Great Clips, then came home and prepped three different meals so we wouldn’t have to eat cereal for supper all week.
By 2:00 this afternoon I was about out of steam. Rested with a good book for a while, and then forced myself to get up for the last chore on my list, cleaning the downstairs bathroom. It’s the gorgeous one that our son remodeled a couple of years ago, stripping it down to nothing and completely rebuilding and replacing. His sister and I did the decorating. I don’t use that bathroom much – it’s the designated shower spot for the two males of the family. BUT I’m the one who usually cleans it, and since I started the new job that takes up so much of my weekend time, no one else has bothered to clean that super cool bathroom. It’s been slowly turning into a filthy, disgusting beast.
So I’m down there, scrubbing spider poop off the dark grey paint on the walls. (At least that’s my guess – what ARE those whitish splotches that appear under spider webs? Whatever they are it takes a hell of a lot o scrubbing to get them off.) I turn on the vacuum to suck up weeks of hair, fuzz, and God knows what off the floor. I scoot the vacuum out into the basement family room, where the husband has been hibernating all weekend. The vacuum noise has obviously disturbed his precious slumber.
And he has the cojones to glare at me and moan as if he’d been beaten with a stick, “I would never do that to you if you were sick and sleeping.”
I’m rather proud to report that I did not ram the toilet wand up his nose, dear readers. I used my words, as all good parents say to their grumpy toddlers.
“You wouldn’t do what? Clean my filthy toilet if you were coming down with a cold? You’re right. No, you wouldn’t. And if you don’t want to wake up dead tomorrow morning, I suggest you not say one more word about me disturbing you with housework when I’m getting sick.”
Tune in tomorrow to see whether he survives the night. Right now, it’s not looking good.