Tuesday

When Wife Gives You Lemonade...

When my husband told me his teammates on his over 40 Lacrosse league voted him to the All-Star team, I was absolutely thrilled for him.  At our age, it's nice to know that we are still contenders despite having to ice our knees, aches, and other pains from overexerting our tired bodies.  The All-Star game was to be played at Harvard Stadium so we decided to make a day out of it and take the boys to enjoy the event.


When you have kids, and you plan for a long afternoon, you'll agree with me when I say there is lots of packing involved.  You need a change of clothes for the just-in-case situations, tons of water to stay hydrated, other time-passers, and of course, snacks (lots of them). I had my purse with all of my necessities in it as well.  My husband had his huge Lacrosse bag with his equipment, uniform, helmet, clothes, etc. 

It looked like we were moving to the stadium for a few weeks.

Okayyyyy we've got everyyyything!!


Anyhow.

It had already been a hectic first half of the day.  I had a cut and color at the ass crack of dawn to get it done before anyone in my household woke up, Middler had a 2 hour Pinterest-Perfect Pirate Party to go to in the blazing hot sun, and finally, by 2:00 pm we were on the road.  It was a gorgeous, 80 degree, hot summer day in Boston, so add that traffic and we pulled into the stadium at 4:15.

Husband had to scoot off to the locker room with his teammates from the Rusty Bones (yes, that is their team name, LOL!), so I was left with the tribe and all of our belongings to climb the concrete stadium steps, praying no one trips and falls, resulting in injuries the first five minutes there.  We finally reached our seats and I was able to drop the 40 pounds of packed paraphernalia I was schlepping around for what felt like miles.  My shirt was soaked already, my hair was soaking in so much heat that it felt like suddenly I was flammable, and my lower back was throbbing from a raging case of PMS.  (Ladies, I know you just winced, because adding PMS to this story, let alone a 'raging' case of PMS puts everyone on edge, doesn't it?)  But don't worry.  At this point in the story, I'm happy, cheerful, optimistic, stable, and overflowing with what felt like an endless supply of patience. I was doing a great job of keeping my erratic moods and hormone fluctuations in check for the sake of a grand day out with the fam.

Currently, the over 30 game was going on.  The two oldest boys were watching them play, analyzing their moves, pointing and observing.  Youngest decided he needed a snack within 8 minutes of sitting down, so the others started snacking, too.  Everyone was content.  I was soaking up some sun and taking in the sights.  Across the stadium to the other steps were several very fit people running the stairs...up...down...back up...back down.  Just watching them gave me heart palpitations.  Ahh to be a young lass attending Harvard, in shape, world at your feet.  I was daydreaming.  An obnoxiously loud air horn woke me from my trance.  End of the over 30 game.   Okay, this is flying by, the kids are happy...we're looking good!

Between games, the stadium blared music.  Pat Benatar's Hit Me with Your Best Shot came on and I was feeling the groove, singing along, having a great time.  Look at me, enjoying a sporting event and having an endless supply of patience!  My PMS-ache wasn't even slightly annoyed with the concrete seats..yet!  I was getting hungry, though, so it was time to start thinking about a snack.  I figured I'd let the kids have at it and then grab what was left until the game was over and we could indulge in some filthy stadium food as part of the entertainment package.

Husband waved to us from the field!  The boys were excited to see him in the game as we cheered him on and routed for the North team to beat the South.  With each goal the South scored, our cheers became slightly more muffled.  Soon the North just had their asses handed to them, and the first half was over. Aside from the rumbling in the stadium, there was a rumbling in my belly.  I was very hungry.  I remembered the delicious array of snacks I packed and reached over for the cooler bag.  Empty.  Nothing. Nada.  Not-a-thing left.  Are you boys kidding me?  You ate everything? Guys, that was an awful lot of snacks. Fine.  I kept seeing other people filing in with tempting treats from the vendors down below: succulent, naughty chicken fingers and fries, Gyros, Burgers, Sausage Sandwiches, you name it - they had it.
I schlepped the kids down a flight of concrete stairs to grab myself (and them if they were still hungry at all) something to eat before I completely lost my cheerful disposition.  CASH ONLY.  ^%$#   ME.  The girl who NEVER leaves home without some cash in her purse had ZERO.  Count it...ZERO dollars on me.  Nothing. I was so busy packing food and drinks before we left, I completely forgot about money.  Husband had his wallet with cash in his equipment bag..in his locker...in the Harvard Men's Locker room.  Back up to our seats we go.  The pack mule and her babies.

Things were getting serious.
 600 questions, 30- "I'm hot's, Is that dad's? Who's that's? What's that's? later, the air horn blew.  I made it without blowing a gasket.  The Harvard stadium usher asked us to leave our seats since the game was over, and that we'd need to re-enter with our tickets to see the Boston Cannons game.  I had to repack everything the boys took out, throw everything over my shoulder and scoop the boys up to make our way out of the stadium.  I just had to get out of the stadium, reconnect with Husband and GET. HIS. WALLET.

Of course he needed a shower, butt slaps and attaboys from his teammates, etc.  Fine, I was still doing okay at this point keeping my shit together.  I was fantasizing about that chicken finger basket - something I seriously haven't indulged in for years - but I was going to do it today - I deserved it.  The boys and I perused the Lacrosse vendor booths, where they found plenty of things to keep them busy while we waited.  I watched people walk by with their fair fare and could feel my mouth watering.  Soon I spotted Husband coming toward us. 

Thank you sweet lord in heaven.  It won't be long now until I have my own Bliss in a Basket to ease my raging hormones.  The boys wanted to do some more poking around, but when Husband realized I hadn't eaten yet, he could see the direness of the situation, as he's been down PMS Rage Road before, he decided it was necessary that we get in, get our food, and find our seats.  Good Man.

The chicken finger booth had no line.  This was a wonderful thing.  Eldest and I got our baskets and I felt like a little girl on Christmas I was so excited.  The boys wanted burgers so we got in what seemed to be the mile-long line for those.  I stifled my frustration as I watched the guy ever-so-slowly flip one burger at a time.  WTF.  I wanted to go back there and throw 12 burgers on the grill and show him how the hell to cook for an army in less than 5 minutes.  But I didn't.  I remained calm.  Remarkably calm.  Husband decided he would do the Greek thing and grab a Gyro from the booth next to us.  Again, no line for that.  He got back in line with us and proceeded to eat the Gyro in approximately 4 bites and under 4 minutes.  I watched in amazement as it disappeared before my eyes.  Okay that's cool, he just expended about 800 calories playing in the MVP game, I'll cut him some slack.  I threw a few fries back just to start the carbohydrate comforting process and they were everything I'd hoped they'd be.  Soon I was holding napkins, bottles of water, burgers, backpacks, purses, etc. and we were making the pilgrammage back to our stadium seats.  I didn't want the boys dropping their $600 burgers while hiking the cement steps, so Husband and I combined efforts to carry everyone's everything.

They had a packed house - not much elbow room, but we managed to plop our stuff down in our small piece of Harvard stadium real estate.  I handed off the food I was holding, set my basket of heaven down and got everyone situated.  As I turned to dive head first into my sinful selection of fried food, I saw it happening.  Middler wanted to come down to our row to sit and lost his balance and stepped foot first into my basket of bliss, causing the basket to slip and french fries and fingers to fly aimlessly into the night air.

(Warped sounds...)  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

My $50 food binge was gone right before my eyes, and I only got to sample six fries before it was gone.

For about 5 seconds, I asked myself how much harmful bacteria Middler could've actually had on his foot and how bad off I would be if I just ate it,  and then I shook myself from my ridiculous question and promptly cleaned up the mess and stomped off to the garbage can to dispose my disaster.  Tears welled up in my eyes.   (Oh stop rolling your eyes, if you've ever had hormone-induced pms rage, you know that it's totally normal to cry over stupid shit and have zero control over it).  I fought those tears and fought the urge to kick everyone around me in the teeth and composed myself. Husband sprang to action and said he would go get me another basket but it was too late, I was already having a mental breakdown and didn't want another one.  For about 5 minutes, I had the meltdown of a 5 year old over a stupid chicken finger basket. PMS breakdowns happen.  Even to the best of us, they just happen.

Oh well, I didn't really need fatty foods anyway, right?  I sat and sulked for the first part of the game and then the kids insisted they needed fresh squeezed Lemonade, so Husband accommodated them.  As he came back to our squished seating location, he handed me a Lemonade of my own.  Icy cold, delish, sweet, sugar-infused Lemonade.  I savored every sip, to (almost) the last drop, and then chewed the ice cubes to find syrupy goodness in every bite.  Middler was putzing around with a napkin and some kind of rubber band or like it that he found on the stadium ground.  I gave Husband my Lemonade to set by him so Middler didn't kick it over during his shananigans and lose my last few sips of yummy goodness, when next thing I know, Middler throws his nasty napkin and rubber band object IN the remainder of my Lemonade.



ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?????   MY LEMONADE???  THAT, TOO?  IS NOTHING SACRED?

"Sorry, Mama, I thought you were done!"

I am done. Totally and utterly done.

There is no sense crying over spilled french fries - but when Wife hands you her Lemonade, can you just keep it out of harm's way?



Love those boys...I love 'em awful...but they drive me crazy because they know they can.
xo
DG


8 comments:

  1. I seriously almost cried FOR you reading that. Hilarious story sister!!

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  2. Isn't it funny how the age division breakdowns go from "and under" to "over" when your little boy is all grown up?

    (That's not all I gleaned from this delightful-yet-very-sad post, but it's the first thought I had.)

    I would have cried over the loss of my chicken fingers and lemonade (if I liked lemonade) AND continued to sulk the rest of the afternoon as well.

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    Replies
    1. Oh Dyanne you always know the right thing to say! Hope you are well! Xo

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  3. Holy cow, I would have been a wreck. I'm not sure anyone would have survived. I've pretty much got that hormonal tantrum thing down to a science. I'd have you ask DH about it, but I'm sure he's too afraid of what might happen if he were to talk.

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  4. Absolutely hysterical--& hilarious!!

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  5. I'm in a raging PMS fit as well.

    I did such a good job of putting myself in your place, my eyes swelled with tears.

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