|From this bowl to my thighs. And worth it.|
Apparently there was a big game or something on tv yesterday? Football or something?
So I heard.
No wings here. No nachos, no party franks, no chips. We’ll have to wait an entire year for yummy cheese-like-substance dip.
We usually host the Superbowl festivities for anybody in the vicinity who wants to come and eat cheez whiz, wings, and chili. Kids, parents, teens, and grandparents cheer for football players and ex-cons, argue with refs, and critique commercials.
The room is small. The seating sucks. We keep the furnace
off low. The dinosaur TV is housed in a broken cabinet complete with a state-of-the-art VCR player. That works. There’s nothing flat, plasma, wall-mounted or blue-ray in the house. Our new tv is circa 1999 and works just fine. Usually.
This time last year, we hosted, yet I missed, the party. I had just secured a whopper client and was holed up in Borders doing research for a cash cow which, unfortunately, ran out of milk much too soon. My family and friends went on without me. Not fun.
Securing flexible work with the goal to work school hours and leave ample mom time requires careful orchestrating behind the scenes. And that must-do work often collides with life just when you don’t want it to.
This year, Superbowl was right after I got a new gig, and the day before I start the actual work.
And kid2 ran in track championships a 40 mile trek away where I had to appear to see the 9.7 second run so she doesn’t require serious couch time as an adult. I took photos to prove it.
Kid3 had a 17 hour Odyssey of the Mind meeting which meets at every spare moment and is really beginning to piss me off. Her mind is just fine the way it is. I tried to buy her off to step down from this, but she insisted. Biting the I-told-you-so right out of my tongue with each meeting.
Kid4 had a basketball game where his fancy pants travel team was playing the in-house rec team which is torture for everybody involved. Sucks to win this, and really sucks to lose it. This is our first year on the winning end, and it’s horrible. Not sure whose dumbass idea this is every year, but I’m the only parent who complains. Ever.
|Oh Velveeta. How I’ve missed you.|
So I was really not ready for any football, not superbowl or any bowl. And while we hinted for invites at every commitment, we came up short. Sometimes life just doesn’t line up with commercial programming, and you have to know when to say when.