As a single parent, I honestly care more about a quiet soak in my bathtub or a quiet dinner without Little hanging off me or trying to sit in my lap over and over and over until I spill my food. I care more about laying in my bed for just five more minutes in silence before Little (who insists on co-sleeping) wakes up and determines that it’s time to start the day.
However, now we have Super Bowl. Confession: I don’t even know who’s playing. Confession #2: I don’t even care. What I DO know is that a group of my friends (bless their little hearts) thought it would be great to have a Super Bowl party at my house tonight.
I worked 80 hours last week at work and most evenings had a mild panic attack when I couldn’t get my work done even after a 14-15 hour day. I went to sleep CRYING on Wednesday because I was just overwhelmed with my life, and I’m not sure what triggered it. I love my jobs; all of them. I love what I do and wouldn’t change a thing except perhaps I’d simplify. My goal this year is to remove two of my other jobs and only have my main career and my Lipstick and Legos column.
So, needless to say a Super Bowl party isn’t my first pick of a fun time tonight. I have stacks of laundry around my home and violently shoved into closets. I haven’t mopped my floors in weeks, and I have trash overflowing out of my trash cans. But, at 3 pm, I have a party of 8 people descending on my home.
Big texted me in the middle of the night last week his “demands” for food. Ribs, homemade pretzel bites with cheese in the middle, and buffalo chicken sliders. Mmmm. The party wants pulled pork sandwiches. I want 7-layer bean dip (side note – before I corrected it, I accidentally typed “70-layer bean dip,” which would be quite a sight to see, no?) and chips. Whatever happened to just opening a bag of chips, opening that pre-made queso dip and laying out some hard pretzels and calling it good?
I will get off work at 11 a.m., rush to the store, and jam everything into my crockpots and oven at the house and curse football over and over. I will inevitably cry because I’m overwhelmed. I will no doubt drink beer while cooking and question my ability to make said pretzel bites with the “light egg wash” that my child so desires. They won’t turn out, and I will get upset and throw them away while Little demands that I play Legos NOW with him.
I will, I’m sure, be asleep on the couch by 5:30 pm while the children terrorize my house. We will have way too much food and far too many beers will be drunk. I will be mad that I spent money on all the food, and I will fall into a deep, deep food coma by 10 pm. Don’t forget, the kids all hit the wall emotionally at 8 pm, so there will be a solid two hours of tears until they fall into bed after eventually calming down. AND! The bonus is that they will fall into MY bed and will thrash violently all night because they are over-stimulated from the Super Bowl festivities so I won’t get sleep, and then I have 14 hours at work on a Monday, sooooo… there’s that.
I’m not excited about this hyped-up annual event. I literally can’t say no to anything and should have probably said no to this party, but I don’t possess that characteristic of rejecting things. So happy Super Bowl Sunday all you fans; if you need me I’ll be at home egg washing every food that everyone requested in between emails from my jobs. Someone please let me know who wins, and then also please let me know who the opposing team was. Also, if you would share all the cool commercials on Facebook after the game, that’d be great. Just basically catch me up; because I’ll be in my food coma! Enjoy the day! If you don’t have plans, come on over one year. What’s another few thousand people squeezed into my living room?