Sunday regurgitation: Pretty soon, I don’t have to give my calendar CPR

For those of you wondering why Sunday is throwing up, fear not. Sunday Regurgitation occurs every Sunday, when I link a prior post of mine, because I am trapped under something heavy and am unable to write anything original or riveting. Hopefully someone will notice I’m missing, remove whatever is suffocating me and I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow. But just in case you never hear from me again … think of me fondly.


My kids are almost done with school. We’re this —–> <> close to summer. Shhhhh – listen.

Do you hear something? Other than my thighs sobbing?

It’s the sound of my calendar coming up for air. It’s no longer suffocating under the weight of meetings, concerts, teacher conferences, volunteer duties,  gymnastics, science fairs, oral presentations, blah blah blah. It can breathe again because, other than the one week in which my youngest attends vacation bible school, I no longer schedule my kids’ summers by enrolling them in camps all summer long. I learned the hard way that enrolling them in all sorts of various camps meant that I still had to pack lunches and snacks and water bottles and still had to drive all over town dropping off and picking up five days a week. It was as if my kids were still in school, except for the bonus of having to slather them in sunblock every morning and fight the parking lots every afternoon, all so that they could get home and complain I’M BORED the nanosecond they walked through the door. And for this, I was paying several hundred dollars a summer.

So a couple of years ago, we got ourselves a pool.

So now, every single time I hear I’M BORED, I throw them into that big home equity loan we have sitting in our back yard, fling a couple of noodles at them and tell them they better live it up because I DIDN’T SELL A KIDNEY FOR NOTHING, DAMMIT.

I leave you with my post from last year entitled Ten Rules of the Almighty Calendar.

Happy Sunday, everyone!




This is our family calendar.

It’s one of those 15″ by 12″ jobs that came with a bulletin board and a pen holder. We’ve been using this model for years now and I’m still pretty happy with it. I had great plans for this calendar when we bought our original one years ago and it held a prominent position on our old white refrigerator letting us see at a glance what everyone would be up to for the next month.

But the bulletin board became a breeding ground for a plethora of crap which constantly fell to the ground when the one remaining pushpin became incapable of holding up fifty times its own weight. Although the pen holder remained sturdy, the pen itself went missing approximately 7 seconds after we hung that baby up and since it’s next to impossible to keep a pen that actually works somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, we eventually bagged the entire bulletin board ensemble. Now we keep just the calendar on top of the fridge which makes Nate very happy as he is not a calendar-on-the-fridge kind of guy, especially since we went the route of stainless steel last year. Stainless steel is not meant to be contaminated by a calendar in Nate’s world … it messes with his neatness obsession and causes him to twitch.

I tried really hard to be hip by using a day planner at one time. I so wanted to be one of those cool moms who whip out a black and pink toil covered planner and schedule dentist visits, teacher conferences and play dates neatly within ½ inch borders in perfect penmanship. You should see our girl scout leader’s planner. That thing is truly a work of art and I am mesmerized every time she opens it up. I used to have perfect penmanship. I also used to have a waist. I miss those days.

A planner just wasn’t in the cards for me because there simply wasn’t enough room in one of those things to write down, cross out, write down again, cross out again, scribble in, underline, circle and arrow as much as is required by this family. So we went the mongo sized route. And even if it is big and doesn’t fit in my purse, it’s still portable, much to my eldest daughter’s acute embarrassment. I held it like a suitcase and took it with me to her physical therapy appointment the other week and heaved it up onto the receptionists’ desk to schedule the next appointment. My daughter stepped far away from me and became completely engrossed in a poster of a foot, while the receptionist just stared, transfixed by the calendar covering her counter. It is a sight to behold.

In order to maintain my sanity, I was forced to establish ground rules for the calendar early on. Everyone in this house knows the rules. And may God have mercy on your worthless soul if you break one.

RULE #1: The calendar is the most sacred object in this house. It must not be defiled by melted chocolate or doodles or math problems or vocabulary words or wet drinks or be used as scratch paper to see if the pen you found under the couch still works. And while I’m grateful you made the effort to not only answer the phone but to take a message, haphazardly scribbling “Jen called” on April 4 when it’s currently June is not helpful.

RULE #2: I am the only one allowed to write on the calendar. Otherwise, we have incidents like this:

Apparently Zoe is a bit concerned that we will forget her birthday, even though her birthday is a celebrated event that lasts approximately three weeks, spans two counties and is reported on by CNN. There is no need to violate the calendar like this, especially when I fill in all birthdays immediately upon purchasing the calendar every year. And if that is not enough, it is physically impossible for me to forget something that is chanted incessantly in my ear for months on end. I HEAR YOU. Now, go away and leave me alone.

RULE #3: If it’s not on the calendar, you did not tell me about it, I know nothing about it and therefore, it is not happening. THIS RULE IS STRICTLY ENFORCED, NO EXCEPTIONS. VIOLATORS WILL BE PUT TO THE CURB AND SOLD FOR A QUARTER. Do not try to weasel your way out of it by telling me I forgot to write something down. I do not forget to write things down, unless you count Weight Watchers points and then, who asked you?

RULE #4: Do not under any circumstances tell me of any event, happening, outing, appointment, etc., during Lost. Things told to me during this time never reach my ears and will be deemed never to have been uttered in the first place. While I am trying in vain to wrap my head around the concept of time travel and trying to figure out why Ben’s beaten and battered face has not completely fallen off, I do not need you blathering on about a skating party. I do not hear you.

RULE #5: Just because you are tall, dark and handsome and bring in the bacon and fry it up in the pan and … never mind. Just because you are the man of the house does not mean that you are exempt from these rules. You are not. So do not try to bamboozle me with a foot rub while you explain that by some freak accident, the calendar does not show that you have a golf outing the next day when both girls have to be in two different places in two different time zones at the same time. Time travel and I don’t get along – see Rule #4. So stop with the foot rub. It’s not going to work. It’s not. It’s not. It’s … oh yeah, right there. Sigh.

RULE #6: When you are done looking at the calendar, place it gently on the top of the fridge. Do not fling it willy nilly on top of the fridge, causing it to hit the back wall and slide down into no-man’s land. I simply do not have it in me to listen to your father’s wails of pain from the hernia he will undoubtedly believe he has from moving the fridge. And I also don’t appreciate having to dust off all the God-knows-what that will inevitably be covering the calendar upon its rescue. I don’t do dust, or haven’t you figured that out by now?

RULE #7: If the calendar is not on top of the fridge, it better be in either my hands or in the hands of someone standing immediately next to the fridge. It better not be in the washing machine, under the coffee table, in the garage, on the driveway or used as teacher’s art pad in Helena’s School for Gifted Children. Mommy cannot be held responsible for what happens when she is forced to deal with a calendar that is missing in action. This rule is established for the good of the entire household because who’s going to cook dinner while Mommy is incapacitated in the hospital from an exploded head?

RULE #8: I will only write as many things as I can fit in the space allotted for that day so all activities proposed are on a first come, first serve basis. I cannot fit a soccer game, softball game, band concert, awards ceremony, book fair, swimming and fundraiser on Wednesday and even if I could, I wouldn’t because that would be lunacy and I stopped doing lunacy last week. There will be no arguing about this BECAUSE I SAID SO.

RULE #9: This list stays attached to the calendar at all times. If you have this list but not the calendar, or vice versa, that is a problem that requires your immediate attention. Figure out a remedy before I find out about it and yelling WHO’S GOT THE CALENDAR is not a solution as I might hear you and become suspicious.

RULE #10: Do not ask me anything unless you have checked the calendar. This works like the “shortest distance between two points is a straight line” theory. We can save a whole lot of time in this family if you just follow this rule. See below:

YOU: Can …

ME: Are you asking me something?

YOU: Ummm, yes?

ME: Did you check the calendar?

YOU: Ummm, no?

ME: Then why are you talking to me?

YOU: But …

ME: No buts. You know the rule.

YOU: Is …

ME: Am I speaking Braille? I already told you. Go check the calendar.

YOU (one minute later): OK, I checked it.

ME: Now, what did you want to ask me?

YOU: Can you help me with my math?

ME: When?

YOU: After dinner?

ME: And what does the calendar say for tonight?

YOU: It says “go grocery shopping.” There’s a picture scribbled next to it … I think it’s someone crying.

ME: Have a seat, we’ve got all the time in the world.



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6 thoughts on “Sunday regurgitation: Pretty soon, I don’t have to give my calendar CPR”

  1. Avatar

    Your doing it wrong. See… my mom would pack us both up and send us off to week long sleep over summer camps usually run by the YMCA. And then…she went on vacation. Usually to Arizona. She liked Arizona. Too bad, so sad, if we need money, cookies, pillows, whatever. If we didn’t have it when she dropped us off at camp, all the letters to home in the world wouldn’t gain us anything as SHE WASN’T THERE TO READ THEM. So that’s the secret. Now you know. 😉

    Love your bog by the way, you are quite a gifted writer.

  2. Avatar

    Rofl, I need these rules for the furniture shopping we are doing for the new house. Its not our house until we have signed on the dotted line with keys in hand.

    Expect he is planning purchases without consulting me as to see if I can handle the cleaning aspect of it or if it suits me..thanks for the inspiration.

  3. Avatar

    Oh my gosh this is so true. I have the worst memory in the world and it isn’t getting stronger as I age. I have failed to pick my husband up at the airport at 11:30 at night (I still swear it was his error not mine), I have missed registration deadlines, doctor’s appointments, meetings. I use my computer’s calendar now and it jumps up and pokes me in the eye when something is coming up. If it crashes then I am afraid the whole world will be coming to an end. Sorry if you were waiting for me somewhere.
    I never signed my kids up for anything in the summer. Their only job for those two months was to grow out of everything they owned so we could start over in September with the other 8 billion back to school shoppers.

  4. Avatar

    My parents always shipped my sister and I off to sleep-away camp in the tiny little town of Cleveland, GA. We lived in Florida at the time. They sent us for 8 weeks every single summer. We claimed they didn’t love us…how could they send us away for 8 whole weeks??? Now, as a parent, I get it….I totally get it.

    I have to have every single event written on our calendar or I WILL FORGET. I’m the same way with my husband….”did you put it on the calendar? No?? Well, then I’m not responsible for forgetting about it….YOU forgot to write it down”. See, and the thing that really sucks about it is I’m always the one remembering everyone’s b-days b/c I write them in our calendar every year when I get a new calendar. Yet, my hubby gets full credit when I send his mother a card with a gift. How fair is that?

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