On Friday night, Jason got called to ref three church basketball games in a row. Of course he could do it because we weren’t going anywhere for the weekend. Now any hopes for a date night were out too.
At 5 p.m. I laid down on my bed just to close my eyes for a few minutes to recover from an interrupted night’s sleep comforting my tonsillectomized daughter. I woke up at 7 p.m. – 30 minutes after my other daughter’s violin recital had begun.
I made homemade pizza for dinner to try and make it up to the recital-ditched daughter, but that only made the swollen-throated daughter feel even more forlorn as she sucked on ice chips.
“After pizza, we should play some games, you guys. Want to?”
They wolfed down their pizza and ice chips then scattered like bowling pins.
I spent the night sitting at my laptop paying bills and balancing bank accounts. In the computer screen reflection I could see a big “L” on my forehead.
That night I dreamed I was strolling around a quaint beach town listening to a jammin’ street guitarist. Waking up to reality was a nightmare.
On Saturday morning, I figured if we couldn’t be recreational we might as well be responsible and get some much needed cleaning done. I was about to completely bury any remains of holiday weekend hopes with chore lists when my sister called. They were camping (in February?) over the hill and invited us to meet them at Crystal Springs for a winter soak. I rounded up my two healthy kids, pulled on a swimsuit, and shielded my eyes from the kitchen that deserved a quarantine label as we headed out the door.
There must have been a lot of filthy kitchens people were trying to avoid because I’ve never seen Crystal Springs so busy. Apparently the management wasn’t expecting so many dish-ditchers either because the line to pay stretched out the door and there was only one guy working the desk. As I stood out in the cold waiting to pay good money to sit in a cesspool with a bunch of fellow losers who had nothing better to do over President’s Day weekend, I actually wished for a moment I was home doing dishes.
Once we finally got in, the warm mineral water did feel nice and it was fun to hang with my sister and her family. We played “I Spy: Tattoo and Body Piercing Edition” with a twist of “Who Shouldn’t Wear a Bikini.”
Snow started to fall just as we hit our maximum prune level, so we headed home.
Luckily, we did have a little something fun pre-planned for that night – tickets to a play!
There are few things in this world that can cure me of a bad mood, weekend, economy, decade whatever, faster than a live theater production – and it was a musical to boot!
Pickleville Playhouse’s original production Who Shot Juanito Bandito, written, directed and starring T.J. Davis was a slap-sticky hoot. T.J. is talented and hilarious, if overly hammy at times. The ad-libbing got a little out of hand and Bandito should have “chot” the federal marshal to take that annoying character out of the production. But the original songs and raps were catchy, the choreography was funky and the dialogue was clever, when it wasn’t twice baked.
It made me laugh out loud, a lot, and I needed a good laugh. I needed to laugh at something silly and frivolous to forget I slept through my daughter’s violin recital then spent Friday night e-banking. I needed to forget I spent the day idly simmering like a pot roast while my house rotted away, and that my legs still itched from the mineral water even though I scrubbed a layer of skin off in the shower. I needed to forget that my daughter’s throat hurts like crazy and she feels miserable and left out and there’s nothing I can do to make the healing process go faster.
A holiday is a getaway, a diversion from everyday life and Juanito Bandito and his goofy Spanglish humor took me on a holiday, even if it was only for a couple hours.
He made me feel like I didn’t need to “choot” myself even though I am mucho idiota.