My son returned home last night with two of his friends, at the same time my daughter's friends arrived. My daughter brought up the rear as her carpool dropped her off, and the roll call went from zero to seven kids in 15 seconds. The boys rested their long boards along the wall in the entryway, and filed by, while the girls streamed into my daughter's room.
As I greeted them, Boris (I've changed
his name) declared how relieved he was being away from the “drunk
adults” in his house, shaking his head with bewilderment. Or
disgust. Hard to say which. How sad that a teen would want to
escape the comforts of his own home to get away from a group of
raucous adults, I thought, as I sipped on my second glass of
cabernet.
The boys piled into my son's room to
begin a marathon of PlayStation3 games. The shoes came off,
a window was cracked. They each claimed a spot on the bed or floor,
propped up comfortably or hunched in a no-nonsense gaming position.
Devices were then pulled out of backpacks and pockets with the fluid
motion of a gunslinger drawing his pistol, trigger fingers itchy and
anxious. While they waited their turn or for a new PS game to load,
they perused YouTube or Instagram, never wasting a moment. They were
where they were meant to be this evening. Poised to begin a long
night of gaming. The Wifi was
pushed to its limits.
While greetings were thrown around my
daughter's room, she unloaded her softball equipment and dirty
uniform and packed her overnight bag, as they
planned their night, simultaneously texting and tweeting. I'm not sure who they're talking to, or at. But their
ability to multitask is laudable, and for a moment I wish I could do
any combination of two things at the same time. My girl had changed into her usual one-size-too-small jeans and teeny weeny
T-shirt, looking ready for her evening. As she shoved the leftover snacks from the afternoon's
softball games at me, she apologized for her absence at home. Her Bye-I'll-text-you-when-we-get-there was
punctuated by a slam of the front door. We were now left with the roomful of boys intent on killing the enemy.
I was more than content to be on the
couch in my yoga pants, with the laptop on my lap (where else), and a
glass of good red wine within easy reach. I treated myself to a
super-sized pizza -- not for me to eat, but to get out of cooking for
who knows how many. My dirty house remained neglected
until the next day, when I would hope to have regained my strength. Hubby was just feet
away, strewn across his couch trying to stay awake. He had just finished
his second cup of hot chocolate, and dozed sporadically. He was
looking like this week TKO'd him, or maybe it was because he had started
his day with our daughter at 4:15 am. Or maybe he broke his alcohol fast for Lent, and the cocoa was spiked with a little Fireball.
And so you have it – a typical Friday
night. The kids were doing what they love best, on the heels of a busy school week that included drills, quizzes, tests, homework, special
projects and navigating through recess. Then ball
practices, hitting sessions, and games lasting an hour to three were added in. Throw in
chores around the house and care for the animals, a break-up!, the stress
of grades fluctuating, and a citation. Shoot, they need to blow off steam as
much as the adults do.
Of course, it's been a long week for
the adults, but in significantly different ways. While we've all
had a checklist of things we didn't want to have to do, the grown-up
responsibilities are, well, just draining. The tasks and meetings at
work, the rejection on the phone from potential clients, the
deadlines, the accountability, the personalities, the time
constraints, the impossible goals. If only the pressure to perform
was for just a grade or recognition. For us, it's
about generating the almighty dollar, and we can't do that without being on our
game. That's exhausting enough.
Then there are the household chores,
the grass that's out of control, the tire that needs a patch. Night and day, the cell phones buzz with text, demanding a reply. Taxes need to be done, but when? A makeup ball game is squeezed in to the already packed schedule. Throw on another load of laundry. Out of milk again! Run to the
store, drop off one of the kids, pick up three more, drop them
somewhere else. Which animal threw up? Forgot my parking pass, turn
around. Pay that bill, transfer funds. What's for dinner
tonight? Are uniforms clean for tomorrow? You need money for what?
The kitchen sink backed up again. I didn't do it! Did you walk the
dog? I thought you watered the garden. I was volunteered for
another fundraiser for when? Coordinate calendars, again.
We can make the wedding right after the doubleheader if
we don't shower and the kids can find a way home. OMG! Make it stop!
I think we can agree that we're all
tired. By the time Friday nights arrives, we are ready to celebrate the
completion of the week, fall out from the exhaustion of it
all, or blow off some steam once we're released from the pressures of a
tightly wound week.
Making it to the final day is like crossing a finish line. High fives to all for making it through!
Making it to the final day is like crossing a finish line. High fives to all for making it through!
