Damn You Weekend Warriors.

I ran into a neighbor recently and she was excited to tell me about a new tile store she had found that morning on the way home from her kids' soccer games. She went into detail about their amazing selection and what she had bought there to start on her home project that afternoon. I listened in amazement, not because of her hand-carved Tunisian quartz backsplash she was describing but because she had managed to attend two soccer games, shop for tile and plan for a home project in the time it took me to roll out of bed, pour a cup of coffee and scratch my butt.

We've all heard of the over-scheduled child, but I think an equal menace to society is the over-scheduled mother. Obviously put here on earth for just one purpose: to make all the rest of us feel like lazy sloths. I can't go to a birthday party these days without hearing this conversation:

I have to leave right after cake. We have another birthday party to go to.

Just one? We have three parties after this. And a bar mitzvah.

Ha. That's nothing. We're going straight from here to a Christening. Then we have two birthday parties and a barbecue. After that I'm checking myself into Cedars for some lipo, but it'll be outpatient. I have to be in Venice by nine for an aura cleansing.

And so on, until by the end of these exchanges the competition has reached a fevered pitch and they all sound like a bunch of frat boys at Hooters competing to see who got laid the most times. I don't even join in those conversations, wanting to avoid their icy stares when I tell them that after cake? I'm taking the kids home, making myself a cappuccino and taking a nap until dinner.

I like to sleep in on the weekends. If Rigel does the same then the girls are usually up before us and get themselves a bowl of cereal. Then they play with matches or talk to strangers on the internet - whatever kids do when they're left unsupervised - until we get up and make breakfast. After that we spend an unhealthy amount of time laying around, reading the paper and drinking enough coffee to give an elephant an ulcer. I've tried doing a weekend "To Do" list as I've seen some of my Type A friends do but by Sunday night when I haven't crossed off a single thing it sends me into a panic. Maybe I should do a more realistic list with activities that I know for sure will get accomplished, things like, 'Breathe air' and 'Shrug shoulders.' I think that may just give me the triumphant feeling of accomplishment that I need to start my week off right.

Don't get me wrong - I'm all for productivity. In fact, I've been known to get a few things done, especially when faced with the imminent arrival of guests. But the stakes seem to have risen in the Look How Busy I Am wars, and it's making it hard on someone like me. How can I sleep peacefully until noon on a Saturday when I know that the rest of you have been up since dawn, atttending sporting events and renovating your homes? How do you expect me to stay in my pajamas all day after I've seen you, all perky and glowing as you're returning from your brunch date and your five-mile run?

My plea to you: knock it off. Try getting really crazy and sleeping until ten. Skip a birthday party and lay on your couch. Resist the urge to re-sod your front lawn, do nine loads of laundry, pre-cook eight days worth of meals or fly to Belize for a bikini wax. Instead, stay home and do absolutely nothing . Or if you run into me, at least have pity and say that you did.

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tags: don't call me before noon

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