Friday nights, at one point, were a chance to erase all of the weekly stress. Let your hair down, dance the night away. Throw back a few drinks with some great friends, or complete strangers, whatever the case may be. Good food, slightly belligerent conversation. It was staying up too late and enjoying every minute of it because Monday comes soon enough.
Those were the days. Or that’s what I’ve heard. Even before kids, I preferred quiet to clubs. But it’s the possibilities of what it can be. And I’m pretty sure what it can be is a lot better than how it was this past Friday night.
When I called my parents in a panic.
“Buzz kicked through the actual window in the boys’ room and I don’t know what to do!”
I can’t recall how high-pitched my voice was, but I’d be surprised if I wasn’t shrieking. And sobbing.
I suppose this is where I should grow my hair in a mullet and lose a couple teeth, since I now have plastic and duct tape adorning my window after spending Friday night with my dad trying to cover up the shattered hole as best we could since it was also supposed to thunderstorm that night. Did I mention the window is right above where Jedi sleeps? And with thunderstorms come high winds and rain, of course, so I had to move his sleeping position to the foot of the bed just to alleviate my paranoia over falling glass. And I feel like the most terrible parent because first Buzz runs halfway around the block with me chasing him like a fool and now he kicks a hole in a freaking window and I’m glad he didn’t get hurt but why can’t I just control my kid, for crying out loud?
Suffice to say, my Friday night did not erase any stress. I’m still waiting for that. Any time now.