Friday...

I've chaired a volunteer committee at my kiddo's school for 10 years.  I think it's important to volunteer at my children's school, showing my children that I believe so much in their education that I'm willing to invest my time there.  So even though the all-of-a-sudden 8:30am meeting was a surprise, I still carved out time to be there.  When I got there I was met as an adversary.  Followed by "how dare she..."  and the "she" they were referring to was me.  I'm a 42-year-old, college educated, intelligent woman whose time is valuable.  I resigned from a position I loved.  But it didn't end there, and I got more phone calls and emails informing me of my shortcomings.

While fielding the aforementioned phone calls, a knock at my door.   A very distraught women, who I later learned is the one neighbor I don't know.  I hang up from the call to have the clearly agitated woman tell me my boys {among others} were playing in her front yard and broke her window while throwing rocks.  She's obviously quite hot under the collar.  I apologize on behalf of my boys and on behalf of poor parenting skills, reassuring her that her broken window and my lack of supervision are my priority.

While helping my boys {and one neighbor boy} write I'm sorry letters to Mr. and Ms. Quite-upset-about-a broken-window-neighbors, and simultaneously giving the "if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem" lesson,  Tess strolls in with a face full of Tess thinks it's just lotion and rubs it all over her face soap.  It's in her mouth and eyes.  She's surprisingly calm.  I strip her down and hold her face and eyes under the running water from the tap.  The water runs in her eyes while she squirms to get away.  I simultaneously give corrections on how to spell the words accident and judgement and character but also continue the lesson to the 3 boys on why using these words is important.  Tess keeps her face under the running tap for a good 15 minutes.

While helping Tess get the soap out of her eyes, I look over to a pile of produce in the kitchen.  I'm hosting a little league baseball bar-b-que in my front yard, starting in 1 hour... for 50 people.  Liv is quite upset at me for not letting her spend the night at a friend's house, (30 min drive one way that she just told me about.)  Never-the-less, I brace myself for eye rolling and insolence, and I ask my girls if they could please start slicing tomatoes and try to thaw hot dogs that I've forgotten to take out of the freezer in all the commotion of the day.

I call Papa and ask him to bring home a bottle of wine to go with my hot dog.

I walk my boys over to the neighbor's home, complete with lots of "yard art," to deliver their apology notes in person, all the while wondering if Ms. Quite-upset-about-a broken-window-neighbor-lady is going to judge my parenting skills by analyzing the boy's lack of spelling prowess.  She wan't quite as upset anymore.

Liv helped slice all the tomatoes... all with a smile and no eye rolling.

The dogs accidentally got inside and ate 48 hotdog buns.

Papa did bring home wine, {which I enjoyed in a red-plastic cup} and 48 more hotdog buns.

The bar-b-que went off without a hitch.  It was a really nice relaxing evening.

The dad's cleaned up the front yard in the near dark while the mom's retired to our family room and polished off the bottle of wine... or two.

I slept poorly at best that night waking up many times editing in my head my email rebuttal to the PTO.
I woke up tired and needing a nap.