Long Weekend

Today was sort of awesome because we did very little. But yesterday...

Yesterday was a tournament, which meant we were there all day, cheering the girls to... well, we tied once. Yay! Other than that it was all, "Well, I don't know what happened."  *sigh*  The girls are fine, but Mate doesn't take it well.

Anyway, the day wasn't over when it was over.

Mate had tickets to a concert with his friends in downtown Sacramento, and the tourney was on West side.

Big T was begging us to help him with his laundry--he had to take a train to Davis today to see a play for his class, and he has a really full schedule.

ZoomBoy had been home alone all day, living on shredded cheese and pepperoni, and we needed to bring him something to eat.

Squish was dying for ice cream.

We had one of Squish's teammates whose family can't give her a ride in the back of the minivan...

So of course our only option was to drop Mate off, stop by the kids' apartment for laundry, go to Adalberto's for food, drop Squish off at home first, drop her teammate at her home next (that's just the order I was passing the house in, otherwise teammate would have been first), drive to the grocery store for gelato and then drive home.

Whew.

And collapse in my chair nearly two hours after the tournament ended and call it a day.

And then wait up for Mate.

Now something you should know about that stop for food.

The clerk at the window had given away all her fucks earlier in the day, and had no shits to give either. As we were waiting in line, one of the sodas Mate keeps in the car started to shoot soda all over teammate and Squish had to run it up to a trash can, still in her soccer uniform, and then shake her hands out and run back, and we didn't even get a raised eyebrow.

I ordered an everything burrito, and instead of, you know, making a burrito, they apparently dumped everything onto TWO tortillas and folded it loosely, like you'd fold underwear because why bother, then sort of drape it in crinkled paper wrap.

Squish pulled it out to take a bite on the way home because it was nearly eight o'clock and they hadn't eaten since 11:30 and it was as big as her head. She got a bite in and said she'd eat the other thing we ordered--it was like eating one of the dogs--not in flavor, mind you, just in sheer volume.

So Mate got home at 11:30 and he was... listing. To his right. In the extreme. He'd had four--FOUR--vodka and tonics and ZERO dinner, after a day like the one we'd had.

Four.

He was very sweet. (He's a very sweet drunk.) But I was like, "Can I get you something to eat?"

"What's this? It looks GREAT!"

"I'll put that on a plate for you... here we go... to the left... the left..."

"I know what I'm doing!"

"You're headed for the table. It's full. Now this way... through the doorway... there you go. The couch. We're all good."

"Mmm... this burrito... it's really amazing."

"Anything's amazing when you haven't eaten for twelve hours."

"It's like the best thing ever. And there's so mu...."'

And that's when he fell asleep, about eight bites into the burrito the size of his head.

I took the plate away and left the lights on so he wouldn't wake up disoriented, and went to bed. He crawled in with me about three hours later, with a crick in his neck. Apparently when you're as cute as he is, your only hangover glitch is (his words) "A really weird poop."  Lucky duck.

When I got up this morning, he was up, with motrin, finishing off the burrito and watching SNL with the kids. I got up, got dressed, said, "Taking the dogs out! Anyone want to go with me?"

And he said, "I was thinking I might go back to bed."

"You know, I thought you were going to go another way with that. I was just about to say, 'No, hon, it's okay, I don't need any company, you should get some sleep.'"

That earned me a laugh and a high five for superlative sarcasm.

And when I got back, the burrito had been completely devoured.

All things considered, it might be easier on him if we win a game or two at the next tourney--but I'm not counting on it.