"Day Off"

by Cathy and Patti

What do you do on your "day off"?

The coveted day off - whether it's on a weekend or on a rare, indulgent day off of work - is generally an oxymoron for busy moms. What do you end up doing on your "day off"? Do you spend it doing things you love? For yourself? Do you relax and pace yourself, taking in the scenery, a yoga class or shopping - without kids in tow?

What's your "day off" really like? Well, let us tell you about some of our "days off".

Cathy:
Last Friday, I had a "day off" of work which went something like this:
I woke up and went through the usual routine of making breakfast, lunch and snacks for both girls within 20 minutes. Once they were out the door, I had my raggedy clothes on, plastic tarped the kitchen and repainted two twin-sized headboards for the girls' room. Once those were done and set to dry, I made some calls, sent some emails, tidied up my disaster of a house and I was off to Costco. I had ten minutes to spare on the way home so I stopped in to see my parents. Dad was still at work so I was enlisted by mom to hold up a 496 lb. bed mattress while she ever so meticulously draped a bedskirt on the boxspring underneath it for what felt like an eternity. I cut my visit short to give me enough time to do the Costco shuffle with all of the boxes I still had to lug from my car up three flights of stairs (which took six trips), pack away, break down boxes for recycling, and cut up and package bulk groceries into a zillion freezer baggies.

Just before I did that last task, my husband unexpectedly came home early from a meeting. Relieved, I asked him if he could please go and pick up the girls from school as I was already five minutes late in doing so and it would really help me out.

"Oh man," he said. "I just got home and I've been waiting to use the bathroom for the last couple of hours. Do you mind if you go?"

Yes, I do mind. But what's one more dizzying, rushed task on to my day of dizzying, rushed tasks? I knew he would have gone otherwise, since he does help out with a lot at home when he can.

"Fine," I said, "but can you at least cut up the [Costco-sized] pizza and put the separate slices in freezer ziplocs?" I said,  hoping he would see the salmon, Italian sausages and chicken breasts that also needed the same attention. He half-heartedly groaned a 'yes' and I was already out the door. Back home with the girls, the pizza was put away but the other monster-sized food items awaiting my attention were mockingly still sitting on the kitchen table. And I still had to whip up dinner because the girls were starving. And we had a volleyball game of Bella's to go to in two hours. That was my "day off."

Last Sunday, I left Ari home with Joe during Bella's lengthy Nutcracker rehearsal at the ballet studio. After killing two hours shopping, I called home and confirmed with my husband that Bella indeed had to stay the full four hours and asked how he was getting along with Ari. "She's not here," he said. "I called my mom right after you left and my parents took her to the park and to IHOP."

Must. Be. Nice. Of course, silly me. It's his "day off" and dang it, he was having it. When do I get mine?


Patti:
I know I am lucky that M is a pretty hands-on dad who also cooks and cleans and does groceries and laundry, and let me tell you: after marriage and kids and a million years together, your whole idea of foreplay changes. A man who cooks and cleans and does groceries? Hot. BUT. This does not in any way mean that all is equal in the land of "days off". You see, on M's days off, he truly gets days off. Why? Simple: He's a man.

You see, it's no secret that women, especially mothers, do not get days off. In fact, the only real way a mom can get a day is to actually physically remove herself from her family. And if a mother actually does get a day off - perhaps a fun night out with friends - do you think she gets to sleep in the next day? No. Kids will wake up regardless of what occurred the night before, and they will be hungry, and they will ALWAYS come to your side of the bed. And if your husband was out with you on that same crazy night out, he will somehow find a way to take a nap the next day while you flip pancakes as your own stomach flips, or struggle to stay awake through Dora the Explorer, or play a 9th mindless game of Chutes and Ladders. ALL WHILE HE SNORES and you contemplate smothering him with a pillow. Instead, you complain, and when you do, he will retort, "It's my day off."

Just last Sunday, my one "day off" of work of only 2 during the week, I did the shuffle from morning to night. And it was SUNDAY. You know? The day of REST? So, that Sunday I woke up, made some pancakes for the kid, and then hustled off to the gym. Okay, yes, I did something for myself (how dare I), but I have to squeeze in some sweat-time at least a few days a week or not only will my pants not fit, I will become an even bigger bitch than I already am. M stayed home with the kid to ensure her survival (He's really good at ensuring survival from the couch. Amazing, actually.), but since he had an appointment to play tennis (day off!) and S had a birthday party to attend, I couldn't afford to waffle at the gym. Instead, I had to make sure my workout was efficient, efficient, efficient! I have places to be! So what is supposed to be a stress killer ends up only adding to my stress.

After the gym, I raced home, jumped in the shower, and with sopping wet hair, drove S to a birthday party. But first! I had to stop at CVS because S remembered we had forgotten to buy a part of the birthday gift. So I screech-detoured, lurched into a parking spot, sprinted through CVS with S in tow, threw money at the cashier, and screeched back to the party. While she was at the party, I drove to the grocery store and sped-shopped through the aisles, throwing in all of the snacks S would need for school while calculating dinners that needed to be cooked while making sure our butts stay clean with a jumbo-pack of toilet paper. My cart was teetering with frozen foods, fruits and vegetables, packets of bread, meats and cheeses.... I bionic-packed it all into my car, and then sped home to unpack it all and put it away. Our garage was otherwise occupied this day, so I had to park my car outside the garage behind the house, lug everything in no less than five trips by myself since M was at tennis (day off!), move the car around to the front of the house, run back into the house, put everything away, and bolt out the door with 2 minutes to spare to pick up S from the birthday party. As I was running out the door, I remembered that I forgot to grab S's ballet bag since she had rehearsal, so I ran back in, navigated the land mines of her room, and then headed out once again. By the time I sat in my car, I was sweating. I picked up S, drove her to the ballet studio and dumped her there, and finally - FINALLY, I took a breath.

.........................

We need a day off from our "day off".