It's Not Just for Bears Anymore

This weekend, the previously agreed upon Hibernation began in earnest. The Boy has been feeling under the weather since the middle of last week, so Friday night I bought a few DVDs and cooked Carbonara and we watched the mismatched doubleheader of Finding Neverland and The Life Aquatic (in our defense, we saw the latter in the theater, but by our own admission, we are way behind). Saturday morning, despite his “sickness,” The Boy played icy mud football with my little brother and pals, and I spent three hours and over $100 getting my hair trimmed (but it actually looks longer!) and further lightened (that part, I love). I meandered (two doors down) to The Home from the salon to find The Boy sprawled on the couch. I was antsy to do something—would have been a shame to waste my newfound good hair. Alas, the Boy had other plans. What I did not know, though he swears he told me, was that this weekend kicked off the NFL Playoffs, which meant that football could no longer be contained by the Sundays I had relegated it to.

What you must understand-- I’m okay with Football Sundays. I’ve come to accept them, and even to like them. Except for the fact that they are never as relaxing for me as they used to be, or as they are for The Boy. In the days when he was still trying to impress me, he cooked dinner on Sundays or we cooked together. Not anymore. I have become meal planner and chef, especially on Sundays. I gather whatever ingredients we still need, get snacks together, provide drinks and refills. I think The Boy is so engrossed that he doesn’t realize I’m the one perpetuating this action; all he knows is it’s getting done. Needless to say, when he asked to have people over to watch football on Saturday night, even though we had already planned that for Sunday, I was less than pleased. Now, The Football (as I called it, in my disappointment), had taken over my weekend. After a lengthy discussion (verging on argument) and two trips to the grocery store to switch my Sunday menu to Saturday, we hosted a few friends for football.

While I prepared a Bolognese sauce in the kitchen, The Boy danced in to check on his wings. I teased him. “FOOTBALL! CHICKEN! FRIENDS! BEER!” I mimicked him.

He replied, “I KNOW! And you’re here too! It’s like all my favorite things in ONE PLACE!”

I joked, “You know, I could probably round up some bananas and peanut butter too, to make it more complete.”

“Could you really??” He responded. So that was it.

By Saturday night I began feeling the symptoms of the sickness I could never have avoided. Skipped singing Sunday and saw a matinée (The Boy: “$11 for a movie, babe, did you see that? Why don’t we go to more matinees? Really!?”), then more football and random movies on TV. The Boy confronted me on my restlessness.

“I’m not really sure you’re feeling the hibernation,” he ventured. He was right. But I’m looking at my calendar and realizing that, in addition to creating an office and beginning a new job, it’s possible I will visit Florida, Texas and Vermont, just in the next month and a half. And I'm sure that, around the end of my first flight, I’ll be wishing I had savored this long winter’s nap.