Remember when I posted about trying to lose weight? I’m over it. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe.
I continue to exercise regularly, and have even reached the point where I can run (jog?!) a 5K without stopping, which feels like an embarrassing thing to announce when I was once upon a time a super fit marathon runner, but take a wild guess where my give-a-shit meter is? It is, on some level, a comeback, and I’m too old to pretend with you that I’m not a little bit proud at having clawed my way back to a moderate level of fitness.
My diet, though, y’all. It’s bad. And I’m not sure I have any flucks to give.
It’s May. And it’s well documented on the interwebs that May is pretty much a hell-scape for parents of school aged kids. Growing up in Kansas, though, I at least had the assurance that the school year would come to a close somewhere around the middle of the month. Not so much in Minnesota. The school calendar in our district usually varies due to construction projects at various facilities, but we are rarely done before Memorial Day. And despite having lived here for nearly 19 years, every molecule in my body is telling me it is time to bring this shit-show to a close, regardless of the calendar telling me we’ve got two and a half weeks to go.
My eighth grader had two soccer games last week that kept her out until after 10pm. One of them required a two hour drive. We picked her up from school, hit the road, and didn’t get home until 10:45. And for those of you who speak soccer, there was no AR on one side, so the lead ref took on that role as well. And, bless his heart, he was barely up for the task of even one of these roles, let alone two. Blown calls aplenty, and he ended the game 90 seconds early. We were down 2-3. Does this scenario represent hardship? Hell no. These are admittedly problems of the privileged. Was it annoying beyond belief to drive two hours on a school night and not have adequate officiating? Hell yes.
For what it’s worth (not a damn thing), I am not typically in the practice of referee bashing. My kids are now both certified soccer refs. I understand mistakes are made and it’s part of the game. So, I can live with this dude’s mistakes; but I still get to be pissed off about the club not providing an AR. And my bitching is limited to this blog. I didn’t yell at him. I would never.
Also, for what it’s worth (again, not a damn thing), we’ve got a game on Monday night, and Waze is telling me it’s going to take an hour to get there. Did I mention we have two and a half weeks of school left?
May is also the month I celebrate having become a mother in 2002. My boy turned 17 yesterday. Some of my DNA is in him, some of his DNA is in me, and I love him with every fiber of my being. But OH MY GOD. The piss poor decision making, the entitlement, his stupid-ass peers and their mother effing clueless parents are SUCKING THE LIFE OUT OF ME. It isn’t that I don’t empathize. It was hard to be 17 in the 90’s, and I sure as well wouldn’t want to do it today. And he’s got some exacerbating factors (stupid ass parents and the aforementioned shared DNA) which quite possibly make it harder for him than most. I feel for him, I really do. But I’m weary of the worry. Because there is always worry. And even though we’re all super duper done with the school year, the prospect of summer with him is bold font all caps DAUNTING.
And so, I’m only slightly ashamed to tell you I’m using burgers as a coping mechanism. In addition to the one above, I had a quarter pounder from McDonalds later that day (on the way home from that mother trucking soccer game). And I’m sitting at soccer practice right now and just ordered a bacon cheddar burger from the snack stand. Never had a burger here before, I’m guessing it’s pretty meh. So I’m not even requiring high quality beef to fall off the healthy eating wagon. I’m simply stuffing whatever red meat I can find into my mouth.