A long week, too much to do, and driving home at 5:05 p.m., all I could think was, “I’m so glad it’s Friday.”
But then I arrived home.
The dancing dervish of a boy greeted me enthusiastically, announcing he had a poster board from school and needed to make pictures RIGHT NOW!
I hadn’t even put my purse down yet, which is code for I still had my bra on.
At the table I read the sheet that accompanied the poster board. It seems the first grade teacher, in all her evil holiday madness, has assigned the students to learn about holiday celebrations in different countries, assigning a particular country to each student. They, “with help from parents” will research and learn about customs in their assigned country, and draw and write about it on the poster board, then present it to the class.
It’s first fucking grade, lady. My kid doesn’t give a flying rocket turd about what’s happening in Austria, his assigned country. He didn’t even know what Austria was, or what a country was. Good thing we have that big world map on the wall. All he cares about is when Santa is going to commit a felony by busting into our house and leaving sparkly packages under our tree.
Whatever. So I found some nuggets on the Google magic window and read the highlight:
“On December 24, the Christ Child brings presents and the Christmas tree for the children. The children wait until they hear a bell tinkling. Then they enter a special room where the Christmas tree is waiting all decorated with candles, ornaments and candies.”
Connor: “What’s a Christ child?”
Me: “Well, it’s the son of god, and he was killed when he grew up.”
Me: “Oh, never mind. We’ll get to that later. He was alive when he was a child, so let’s just roll with that.”
Now, since I am so very clever, I decided to google “Christmas in Austria” videos. So I found a Rick Steves video, who is the Mister Rogers of the travel world, and started playing it. (And what is up with Rick Steves anyway?? I try to imagine him having sex with his wife, but I just can’t, because he is so Mister Rogers-like. It’s like he’s completely androgynous…but I digress.)
Five seconds, and Connor was done with Rick. Can’t say that I blame him. Either way, the project was under way until we decided to take a break, and resume another day.
Thinking I had seized a moment to unwind, I got up to find that the dingo, being far too delicate to go outside in the rain, had left a puddle of pee on the tile. Bitch.
I sopped it up and grabbed the Swiffer, because I’m all domestic and Martha Stewart-ish like that. But then, THEN, this happens…
What the hell, Swiffer??? You can’t tell me that’s my fault. I might not be what you would call “dainty”, but neither am I well known for my sheer brute strength. I call foul, Swiffer!!!! This is a design flaw if I ever saw one.
See how that mother lover broke right in the curve?? That is the critical point of applied pressure. Faulty engineering, bitches!!!! And it’s not like I saved my Target receipt from 8 months ago, on the off chance I would need to return a floor mop!!
You haven’t heard the last from me, Swiffer design people. This is just starting…
Anywho, moving on the from the dingo-pee/Swiffer fiasco, I went to retrieve the laundry from the laundry room. The clothes were stacked high in the basket, which was sitting atop the washing machine. As I went to grab the basket, several items from the top topple over and fall behind the washing machine. BEHIND IT.
Well, since hubs was out working his 2nd job, my friend “Auntie” and I had to shimmy the washer out, only to find we couldn’t reach back there to unplug it because there’s not enough room in the laundry room. Stupid house design.
So we somehow managed, over the course of twenty minutes, to fish out the clothing items, armed with two light sabers and a long pasta spork. And man, was it dusty back there. So those clothes got re-washed.
And this, THIS cluster was my Friday. So really there’s nothing to look forward to now. Friday is just as sucktastic as Monday, so really all I’ve got left is to wait for retirement.
Oh, and I ended the evening with some Ruffles (because I like ridges) and this: