A Brief History of the Weekend

Blugh. I don’t feel like slogging through every detail of the weekend. But I will, because I am too tired to fight my brain about its weird, rigid linear timeline crap when I am already exhausted from the maybe-this-boca-chik-patty-is-really-chicken routine.

My parents came down while A. went to Kansas to play a show with the HDE boys. The parents were awesome, as always, and my mom is such a kind, kind woman for taking me shopping at the Gap as if I were sixteen. I have new tank tops now. And yes, I’m turning thirty next month, and my mom still buys me a tank top here or there. And I accept it, because she likes to do it, and because I really, really like the Gap’s shelf-bra tank top. In fact, I love it, and it is my summer uniform. Except that this year, after taking last summer to wear gigantoid, sweaty, sack-like maternity gear, and taking the last eight months to shrivel up, my boobs are riding a little differently in the saddle, shall we say.

And, the Gap was having a pretty kickass sale. And, I don’t really like to shop. So, I panicked, like I was on one of those grab-as-much-shit-as-you-can-and-put-it-in-your-cart television game shows. You know, just in case I never, ever encounter a black tank top again. Maybe you read my story about this on drivl.com—but if you’re going to visit the link, note that I changed “mom” to “out-of-town-friend” and “Gap” to “Banana Republic,” because we’re all friends here at Mama Snee, but Drivl is way more public and I didn’t want to sound like my mom took me to the mall and I dorked out over a sale at the Gap. Even if that is the truth.

My dad was great with Birdy. He was a little nervous about staying with her for 2 hours by himself while we ladies went shopping, but he did a fantastic job, with a big sweaty Birdy nap as the grand finale. He was also very nervous about my driving his car, which he has always been. I kept asking him, on our way to the Caribbean place (Next week I check into a Black Bean Salad rehab program, swear) if my driving was making him nervous, as it historically makes him clammy and white-knuckled, making weird moves toward an imaginary brake on the passenger side. He kept telling me it was fine, but on our way back home he snapped and made a move to grab the wheel from me because he thought I was about to crash into a telephone pole while I was fumbling with the lights on the dashboard. We will never know if I was or was not headed into the pole, but we will always have differing stories about it.

I have to be honest here, I usually put up a little fight when A. goes out of town or leaves for the night to play a show. And then he leaves, and it’s totally fine–Birdy and I have a great time, bumping around town and having little adventures. Like going to Wild Oats and smelling that healthy Wild Oats smell that is laced with something that makes you think you will be healthier just by walking in the door, and even healthier if you buy some stuff with a recycled-looking label. Adventures like getting halfway through weekly grocery shopping at the swanky Kroger and realizing that I completely forgot to give Bird her bottle before we left the house, and no wonder she’s cranky because she hasn’t eaten in like six hours, and I’m getting physically sick with guilt (sweaty, nauseous) in the grocery, and racing home to get some food in the poor kid.

Adventures and weekend guests aside, we were very happy to see A. when he dragged himself in the front door late Father’s Day evening, stale and glassed-over from the road.

And speaking of groceries, I am pissed. We’re going out of town AGAIN this coming weekend, and I thought I’d order the fancy online healthy delivered groceries—just lunch stuff and a few other things—to have waiting for us when we get home on Sunday. We all know that getting home late on a Sunday not only cancels Sunday grocery shopping, it throws the whole week into a tailspin and before you know it you’re eating carry-out for a month straight because you can’t get the normal food-buying routine re-established. And with that in mind, the $7.95 delivery pricetag for the delivered stuff doesn’t seem so steep. However, comparing my last receipt from the Kroger trip where I starved my kid, lunch stuff for Andy for the week cost $12.67 at Kroger, and it was going to cost $23 and change for the same stuff (granted, organic cottage cheese vs Kroger cottage cheese is a clear price difference) at the easy-breezy place. Before delivery. And shit, too, because I wanted this to work.

We got a gift basket at work last week, with a whole box of Swedish Fish in it. I can’t be stopped. I eat at least seven of them a day. At LEAST. And speaking of candy, sitemeter says that I get more than a few hits on my blog from people searching for info on the Starburst that I thought was acid-burning my mouth. I can only assume they are sitting in front of their computer screens, drooling and fanning their chemical-tasting mouths and wondering if they’re going to die. I hope I can be of some help to them.

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