Self-Portrait of Somewhat Pathetic

This was the text that I sent to one of my best friends last night as I sat in a Sports bar surrounded by men all drafting their Fantasy Football teams: "Hah! I'm so pathetic...I needed to get out of my house and away from my kids so badly that I am subjecting myself to this....and using up my cousin's goodwill and free babysitting".

I tagged along with my husband last night for his draft.  A few of his friends were there, there was beer and bar food and the Yankees on just about every screen in the place.  Really, it could have been much worse than it was.  And it wasn't bad, at all. Just not what I was hoping for.

I didn't tag along to check up on my husband, as I'm sure some of the "men" there assumed.  I didn't tag along to make sure he didn't spend too much money on trades and drafts.  I didn't tag along for any other reason than I REALLY needed to get out of my house and away from my kids (OH THE HORROR AT ME BEING A TERRIBLE MOTHER AND NEEDING A BREAK FROM MY KIDS!) And I figured it would be a bit fun...you know, sports bar, the husband, his friends (whom I like) and beer and terribly bad for you food.

And it was fun, for awhile.  And then the guy next to me gave me one too many disapproving looks and made some backhanded comment about me being there.  And then I knew it was time for me to drown my beer and head across the parking lot to Target.

A win-win, for the most part.

While my jaunt through Target was enjoyable, it didn't produce any fun results.  Normally, my Target runs result in a fun new 'something' for me or the kids to play with.  Last night's Target run resulted in baby wipes, MiO drink mix, diaper rash cream and squeezable baby food.

Wild and Crazy....I know.

My Target run, though, is not the point.  Neither is my experience at the Sports Bar.  I'm not here to whine about the draft and being surrounded by men who, probably, didn't want me (the only woman, save the waitresses, in the entire bar) there.

I'm here because I am the self-portrait of pathetic.  Or I was last night.

Like I said, I needed to get out of my house.  And don't go thinking my husband keeps me under lock and key.  SO NOT THE CASE. Lately though, my days seem to run together.  Saturday is the same as Monday which is the same as Wednesday which is, you guessed it, the SAME AS SATURDAY!!  

And this is not a bad thing.  For the most part.

I know three weeks from now, when soccer is in full swing and gymnastics has taken a hold of our lives and school is the center of some 7 year old boys' universes, I'll long for these days of no difference.  But right now, they are making me a little nuts.  

And forcing me to stoop to somewhat pathetic lows to get out of my house.

And as understanding as my husband is about me needing a break (he really is) I don't think he gets, or got until I unloaded it on him last night, how much I sometimes need a break.  And sometimes, I even want him to come with me on said breaks. But babysitters are not cheap and our regular sitter is a soccer player and soccer is back in season.  And I won't take advantage of family, as I sometimes fear I already have.  And the state frowns upon you locking your children in their rooms with food bowls, adult diapers and maybe a bottle or two.

So, more often than not my breaks consist of runs to Shop Rite or Target.  They are quick blips on the radar where I rush into the local library and grab a book they have on hold for me.  Or a spontaneous run to the local ice cream store to grab a sundae for the husband and some for myself.

And for the most part, those usually suffice. But as of late I'm so pathetically in need of a break and some time away that even I'm willing to subject myself to an inordinate amount of testosterone and disapproving looks from "men" who were clearly using their fantasy football draft as a means to get their own breaks.