So when does the relaxing happen?

Ahhhh the weekend.  We all look forward to it, but I am seriously beginning to question why.  Since Friday afternoon, I have been on a non-stop run-fest.

It started with a phone conversation in which I heard my husband (who was packing his gear to leave for a video shoot) tell a different client, “Yup, I’ll get that right out to you.”  Which is code for; ‘my wife will get in her car and drive all the way across town to put it in your hands.’  He left for his shoot in one direction and I left in the other, while leaving the boy home with instructions to dress himself for his baseball game.  (I am ever so thankful that the children are old enough to stay at home!)  When I returned, we were off to the game.  As soon as the game ended, the boy and I rushed home to change out of our dirty baseball clothes into wedding appropriate attire to meet the hubby and daughter at a wedding half of us were late for.  Small talk, food, cake, smile, drive home eyes half closed and fall into bed.

Saturday, since I knew what the day had in store for me, I set my alarm for 6 am.  (Yes, that’s right, 6 am on a Saturday!)  I got in my workout and tried, as quietly as possible, to get as much of the house cleaning done before the rest of the house woke up.  When they finally opened their eyes, I squeezed out my traditional Saturday morning pancakes before enlisting the troops to finish up the Saturday scrub down.  We eked out the house cleaning with only 15 minutes to spare before we had to be out the door for another baseball game.  After three hours in 92 degree heat, full sun, and endless dirt to the face later, we left the fields with another win under our belts, but already late for the next event.

Home for a quick change, then off to cross the city to attend my grandfather’s 80th birthday party/family reunion.   Knowing that I’m already late and that I have to leave early for another appointment, I spent the time I was there walking around to visit with all the necessary family members, attempting to avoid being the subject of evil gossip for not mingling enough.  Tick tock, tick tock, time to rush to the opposite side of town (again) for my niece’s 10th birthday party.  (If only my grandpa and my niece from my husband’s side would have coordinated and planned their parties together…some people!)  This party we actually make on time.  Yeah me!  Visit, talk, eat, present, sing, cake.  (Side bar… cake was really ice cream cake.  I LOVE ice cream cake.  I skipped cake at the first party, banking on the ice cream cake being served.  Point for Kerry!)

As I finish my last bite of ice cream cake (mmmmm!), I look at my watch and realize that I have exactly 20 minutes before the pharmacy closes and I have a prescription to pick up.  After quick hugs and fast good-byes, we rush out the door.  I think I may have set land speed records on I-80…. I know I broke numerous traffic laws, but I ran to the pharmacy window literally 2 minutes before they closed.  I win!  (I win a pharmacy bill, but, hey, I won something, right?)

Home, sweet home with just enough time to make a cake (home-made, from scratch, chocolate cake…the absolute best cake ever) for my son’s birthday party tomorrow.  That means that tomorrow is party mode all day… prep, set up, party, tear down, clean up, fall over.

Who are these people who have these relaxing, unscheduled weekends?

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Let them eat cake?

My daughter turned 12 on April 18th.  We, of course, had cake and parties and festivities.  It was all lovely.  As with most birthdays, there was cake left over.  There was a small wedge piece left over from one of her birthday cakes.  (Yes, I said one of her cakes.  She ended up with two this year.  One on her actually birthday, because it’s not really your birthday if you don’t have cake.  And one on the day of her party the following weekend.  I love baking and who doesn’t love cake!)  Anyhoo…. I shoved the leftover wedge piece of cake and the box into the garage fridge.  We had the party, life got crazy busy, and the cake was forgotten.

Three days ago, I was cleaning up in the garage and opened that fridge to see what could be pitched.  Hello old cake!  Goodbye old cake!  In it went, box and all, into the trash can for curbside pick up later this week.

Cut to last night.  After doing a little weeding and watering the flowers and garden, I pulled out the trash cans to haul to the curb in the morning.  I went around to the back of house to grab something, and, as I come around the corner, I found my darling son with lips and fingers smeared with frosting.

“Trystan!  That cake is a month old AND I pulled it out of the fridge three days ago!” 

“I was just trying it.”

Sure, just trying it.  Just trying month old, rotten cake to see what food poisoning is like.  My guess… it will be like a belated birthday present you don’t want and can’t return!