Sunday, January 31, 2016

Every Week Like Clockwork

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom hates Sundays. Always has. She'd rather get up on a Friday morning, facing a whole day of work, with the weekend spread out ahead of her...than arise on Sunday morning, knowing there was not enough time to get all the chores finished, and that Farmer H would be cranking back and slamming closed the La-Z-Boy alternately, every ten minutes, starting at 4:00, to remind her that she was also expected to cook supper (even though we don't eat on Sundays until after 6:00).

Yeah. It's 4:47 on Sunday. My nerves are shot.

I just spent over an hour filling out the FAFSA for The Pony. Not that it behooves either of us to do so, because the Hillbilly income is too much to qualify The Pony for educational grants and loans. But the colleges MUST have the FAFSA. No point in dragging it out. It's tax season, too. So that must be done, then the FAFSA updated with that retrieval tool that connects spying Uncle Sam to the college info.

Oops! There he went stumping into the bedroom and bathroom. Farmer H. Not Uncle Sam. I might as well give up this little writing pipe dream and go tend to his needs. He's the only one who counts around here. Can you believe he wanted ME to pick up some alcohol for him at the gas station chicken store? Like he doesn't drive to town two or three times a day. Just because I told him two months ago that they had a boxed set of some fancy whiskey with two tumblers, and he went to buy them, and then said they were NOT the price I quoted him. Because he picked up the bigger box, not the on-sale box. So he wanted me, after completing two loads of laundry, making the shopping list, facing The Devil, buying my 44 oz Diet Coke, putting away all the groceries, cooking him a SECOND lunch when I got home at 1:30 (a hot dog is not enough, it seems), and trying to explain to my sister the ex-mayor's wife that I did NOT get the same 1099 as her because she did something else with her go to town and buy his boxed set.

The #1 son is too busy to call me about HIS FAFSA, which I could have killed as my second bird with today's stone, except that the time is not convenient for him, and he'd rather do it later tonight, which is terrible for me. So now I can't simply transfer my parental information onto his, but rather must spend another hour at a later date filling in info so he can also be ineligible for college grants and loans.

Now excuse me, as I must go fill Farmer H's trough before he comes through the ceiling of my dark basement lair, and cook up three days of lunches for The Pony to take to school this week.

I'm so glad tomorrow is Monday!


Sioux said...

I'll bet you are. How many more Mondays do you have left?

Hillbilly Mom said...

ONLY NINE!!! Whoops! Didn't mean to scream it out like that. Only nine. That is counting off President's day, and the Monday after Easter, and based on the premise of no more snow days.

fishducky said...

Are you the only one in that house with a job (besides building barbershops & the like)?

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I used to have a plan for eating every day. Since I have been feeling crappy, He Who has been really good about getting take out. Only problem is the limits of take out here .....

Hillbilly Mom said...

I am the only one in the house with a HOUSE job. Until May. Then for 3 or 4 months Farmer H mows the yard. On the lawnmower he bought from my grandma for $800 two days after I told him I was buying a new laptop with the $800 I had saved.

Outside the house, we both have jobs, each deeming ours the more demanding...

He's like a dog jumping at the food bowl, or a cat running to the sound of the can opener. He KNOWS what time we eat, but he has to make sure I don't forget.