There was this country song that was popular some years back "What I Love About Sundays." Sundays are very lovely for some, I'm sure, but I hate them.
This morning I woke up early (blah) to my messy house (who cleans on Saturday night?) needing to let the dog out (DeuceDad out of town), then wrangle crabby toddler into dry diaper (dog barking to be let in) while hopping around with legs crossed (peepee dance) until I get a chance to relieve myself (easier to suffer than clean up everyone else's puddles).
The middle part of the day was fine - church, fire department open house, where Deuce sat in each of 6 emergency vehicles twice, lunch. Then Deuce wouldn't nap, but I think we've covered that here. I decided he needed quiet time, at which point he destroyed his bedroom. So we picked that up, and now he's watching 1 hour of TV while I rot my brain on the internet instead of doing anything productive.
But now, it's Sunday night. There's no where to go, I don't want to cook, and definitely don't want to make any messes. Deuce won't nap or watch football, I don't have anything great OTN. I could scrap, but there's a pile of filing on my table... who files on Sunday night?
Every Sunday night is like this. If it's not just me here being bored, then its DeuceDad and I each bored and trying to pawn Deuce off on the other one (an adult can only play play-doh for just so long).
I've tried making social plans for Sunday nights, but the rest of the world "values" their "family time" and "likes" to spend a "quiet evening" "together". (air quote that!)
I think we'll wander Super Target and get Chinese takeout. Those places don't care that it's Sunday. Then I can make a scrapbook page about Play-doh with authentic fingerprints on it. Win-win.