Okay, first of all, up until about a minute ago I hadn’t a clue how you blog. In fact, I’d view all those bloggers out there with both awe and disdain. Impressed that they could do it, couldn’t care less what they had to say. But I had no choice. I had to blog just to see if I’m the only who feels the way I do. Here’s my situation:
I’ve got a great wife. Love her. Two great kids, a 14 year old girl, sweet as can be, and an 11 year old whipper snapper boy. He adores me. I love, love being with my family. I do.
My job? It’s unbelievably stressful, challenging, life-consuming, and frustrating. I love it. Love my co-workers, especially my best friend Billy. He can be annoying (bragging about his trophy wife and all), but he makes my work day fly by.
When the kids were little, I’d work like a dog all week long, never home for dinner, kissed their sleeping heads when I got home, did the same when I left early the next day. But the weekends? They were heaven. I’d sleep in, get up and watch my kids play or fight or ignore me. My wife would give me loving looks. Couldn’t believe how good I had it. Savored every second spent with my family. Then back to the grind, fully recharged and raring to go. Oh how I loved when Fridays came around. HELLO WEEKEND!
Not so much anymore. What happened? Let’s just say weekends ain’t the sanctuary they once were. My life as a parent has evolved into hyper scheduled marathons with seemingly no finish line. And I HATE running (not that I couldn’t use the exercise).
Here’s last Saturday: Get up at 6:30 (!!) in the morning to drive my boy an hour and a half for his basketball game to watch him sit on the bench while this chatty mom talks into my ear the whole time, never even watching her son who plays the ENTIRE game! Then my wife calls during the one second my son is actually playing to remind me that I have to rush home to take our daughter to her cello lesson because my wife has to take our dog to the vet because she “thinks” it ate her checkbook. The basketball game ends. We lost. Again. My son looks miserable. Real pleasant ride as I rush home to get my daughter who HATES playing the cello. I hate taking her. We both hate this! But my wife WANTS her to play cello because it’ll get her into a college that I’ll have to work even harder to pay for! When I get back home, my wife’s in a bad mood because she had to pay $150 to learn our dog didn’t eat the checkbook. So now we’re out $150 AND a checkbook. We talk about going to a movie, but both fall asleep before we can agree on one. Then Sunday arrives. And it’s even better. Three birthday parties, a Cub Scout meeting, and guess who gets to make a 3D model of the solar system by day’s end?!
So now when Monday comes along I race out of the house like a kid on his way to Disneyland. I can’t wait to get to work because in spite of the stress and constant pressure it’s a breath of fresh air compared to my weekends. But now I have no down time. Ever. Except the one hour a week when I watch Mad Men, which is the worst hour of my week because I watch it and cry. Why can’t I smoke and drink at work, and then come home and not have to do a damn thing?! I want to be Don Draper. But I’m not. I’m me. A loving family man who survives the weekends and savors the work week.
Ahhh, that’s me slipping into my office chair. “Thank god it’s Monday.”
Am I alone here? Anyone else out there feel this way? Let me know. Write something. I won’t have time to read it!! But write.