(Written one glorious day last week)
It was almost 4:30 and I was almost home free. I had been waiting for this moment all day–time to taste freedom, time to feel the sun on my skin, time to fucking leave work y’all. About 4:05 my desk phone rang–the Officer was on the other end of the line, “Do you mind if we have company come over for dinner?” Silence….was this a terrible joke? Surely he wasn’t serious. He knows how precise I am with our weekly schedule. (Our being me and the Monster)
What was I supposed to say, yes? Yes of course I mind? I mean, after all he is the one doing all the cooking and all I had to do was come home and eat, it’s not like I was expected to come home, cook and entertain (Lord forbid) so what was the big deal?
The big deal is I just don’t do well with company during the week, it causes me to have anxiety and frankly it’s something I have trouble appreciating no matter whom it is. (With the exception of my mother) I dislike my with my schedule being fucked with and when people are sitting in MY living room they are indeed fucking with MY scheduled routine. I feel like I have to push things back, alter the routine and if I don’t push them back and continue on I feel as though it’s obvious I’m annoyed with their presences (I know, since when I have ever cared about showing my annoyance)
The fact of the matter is (and I’m sure there’s a mom out there that can appreciate this), we have set times for everything, we have dinner time, we have bath time, we have sit on our ass time, we have bed time–my train has to keep on chugging regardless of who’s at my house, it stops for no one, it has no delay. Moms are very particular about their schedules. They’re almost holy- we live by them, they are what get us through, and they are what keep us fucking sane!
So there you have it. When I finally do/did get home from work—that moment I’ve been waiting for (all day since 7am, mind you) I will have company sitting on my couch. Call me a bitch, but I know somebody out there understands—somebody, somewhere.
Amen! Don’t jack with my schedule! I hate weekday evening company too. The only thing worse is having to pretend I don’t hate weekday evening company when they arrive. Mommies schedule is like a delicate stack of cards. Screw with it and somebody (either you, the kids or both) is going to come tumbling down.
Exactly! I will make plans to go out to dinner on the weekends, or far in advance a weekday dinner not at my house. Don’t come to my house. “It’s only one night…” means three days of trying to get the routine restored and there’s only enough wine in the fridge to make it through my cold dinner and a colicky rager for one evening.
I hear ya! My husband says every time it happens, “it’s only one night” They don’t understand the importance of the mom schedule! lol