Have you ever have one of those days where you wake up and as the sun streams through your curtains, you are 100% certain today is going to be a great day? Maybe it's the fact that you slept an extra hour in addition to your usual allotted 4. Maybe it's the sweet baby coos coming from the crib in the corner of your room. Whatever it is, you leap from your bed in the greatest of moods.
And then fall flat on your face as the day decides to trip you. Then it kicks you in the crotch while it spits in your face and gives you a wedgie.
It wasn't just one big thing going wrong, just millions of little ones:
Like whatever plague has infested my body since mid-December has reared it's ugly head again and I'm coughing up stuff that must be radio-active, it's so green. I think a high pressure system has moved into my sinuses and my head just might explode soon.
Like my son spitting up everything he ever ate all over me several times today. A girl only has so many pairs of sweat pants.
Like the attitude of my kids making me seriously contemplate changing their names to Crabby and Clingy.
Like when I do decide to indulge myself and hop in the shower for the first time in 2 days, Clingy can't handle the two minutes I'm away from him, and Crabby won't even entertain the thought of entertaining him.
Like Crabby melting down at the slightest thing; "my hand hurts, I don't know how to do that (dress herself - yes she does), I can't find my slipper, the dog is looking at me, the bathroom is cold, my leg hurts, I want a pink spoon..." Oh, the drama.
Like Clingy deciding he wants to be held. All day. And not in a sling, or a carrier. Nope, only two human arms will do.
Like me stress-eating an entire bag of kettle corn (okay, that was about the best thing that happened today).
Like Clingy rockin' the 45-minute intruder. Every. Single. Nap (for those non-parents, the 45-minute intruder is where your child inexplicably wakes up after only 45 minutes. And they're not very happy about it and won't go back to sleep).
Like Crabby throwing the fit to end all fits because I wouldn't let her wear a dress. Because we were painting and I asked her to wear clothes that I didn't mind getting paint on them. The conversation went something like this:
E: But I don't want to wear those clothes. I want a dress.
Me: I don't want you to get pain on any of your dresses.
E: But I won't be a princess.
Me (thinking Walt Disney needs a serious knee to the groin for his role in the whole princess scam): Princesses wear pants too, Elise.
E: But I won't look pretty.
Me: Clothes don't make you pretty, it's who you are and your ATTITUDE that makes you pretty.
E: But I will look like a boy.
At this point I tell her she needs to stop arguing. It's those clothes or she doesn't get to paint. And if she continues to argue with me, I will take all her dresses away and she'll have to wear pants from now on (yeah, okay... a little extreme. But we have this argument word-for-word EVERY. TIME).
Well, you'd think her dresses were actually puppies and I had threatened to drown them by the way she reacted.
And even though I wanted to run out the door, leaving Seven in charge, I didn't. I kept my cool. I counted backwards from 1000. I muttered expletives under my breath.
And after Fred came home and we ate dinner... I went to Target. Strangely, it helped.
It's a good thing my kids are just too cute...
1 week ago