I like to think I can do it all. And most of the time, I can.
Go me. Kickin’ it with the humility today.
Fortunately, though, I do know when something is just not achievable. (Not really, okay. Everything is achievable – except for, you know, Hulk Mommy.)
Last weekend was like a black cloud of Oh-My-Gosh-We’ll-Never-Get-This-Done. So, I knew something had to give. And I really had no choice but for that thing to be food.
I spent Friday working on the elementary school race preparation and then we went out with friends for dinner and Bingo, in which The horseshoe-up-his-backside Bread Guy and his buddy split the largest take of the night to the tune of $250. (They weren’t really supposed to be playing because, you know, underage gambling and all. But since they didn’t actually pay for it and the folks at the fire hall are super cool, they let it slide.)
Then Saturday we had to run loads of errands to get ready for Sunday and Monday, clean the kitchen that hadn’t been really cleaned in days, finish the laundry, practice baseball, and pack for skiing. We did not eat out but only because I was insistent that we’d eat at home.
Sunday was a fundraiser for The Bread Guy’s travel baseball team. A Cornhole Tournament. Yes… cornhole.
Cornhole. When did this become so popular anyway? It seems to be eerily similar to horseshoes. You know the game that was hugely popular when I was a kid in the ’80s (you know, way back in the 20th century) where people threw giant horseshoes at a stake in the ground. Now the game has progressed to the 21st century where people throw a beanbag at a hole in a sloped board. Yep. A beanbag. Because that’s so much more advanced than a horseshoe. Boggles the mind.
And don’t even get me started on the name.
Anyway, they were selling all sorts of things to raise money: crappy chips, prepackaged cookies, soda, and who-knows-what-kind of hot dogs and hamburgers. (I do realize that I could have inserted myself in the planning here and lobbied for fruit cups or something but I can’t volunteer for everything. Because, you know, Hulk Mommy.) And my kids ate it all. In volume. Mr. Selective doesn’t like hot dogs or hamburgers, so he ate nothing but processed crap.
We left from there to go skiing. When we got there it was late, the first restaurant we went to was packed, so we ended up at Pizzeria Uno’s. $85 later …
We got up the next morning and had the breakfast that I had packed (there was only a fridge and a microwave in our room): cereal, granola, frozen fruit, and homemade yogurt.
We had lunch at the lodge – overpriced, cafeteria-style crap food. We drove home in the snow and stopped at Chick-Fil-A for dinner. (Yes. Yes, we did.)
I think we may have set some sort of personal record.
We ate out more times in those 4 days that we usually do in a month. (5 – in case you weren’t counting) At places that we rarely, if ever, go to.
Big Britches definitely set some sort of record for most chicken tenders consumed over the course of a 4-day period. (4 orders)
Somehow the parentheses helps it to feel less painful. And less disgusting.
I do my best to bring and make food as much as possible, but this time I just couldn’t feasibly accomplish it. (Well, I could have, except for, you know, Hulk Mommy.)
Unfortunately, bad food is how the rest of the world operates, and sometimes it’s the choice between the processed food or the not-doing. And the reality is that the kids had so much fun that what they ate was {mostly} insignificant. Unless you consider the face break-outs and the general look of unhealthy that came over them for the next few days.
Does my seeming complacency indicate that I am okay with this state of things? Absolutely, most certainly not. We do the best we can to fight the battle. And I think we come out on the winning side most of the time.
It’s just that sometimes, you have to forgo the battle in favor of the fun.
Otherwise, you know, Hulk Boys.
