Seriously. I am having a moment over here. A moment defined by a kid saying, “I totally don’t respect you,” (he apologized (sincerely) later) and by LOSING half of the Girl Scout Cookie Order Form. Only *I* did not lose it. I put it on the bookshelf in the living room and Sophie took it down and *she* lost it. But, still, if you ordered cookies from my kid there is a fifty percent chance you’ll want to kick her ass in a couple of months. Thank Maude she didn’t collect money yet. I’m betting that I will find the form later, and then I will just buy the stuff on it out of pocket and deliver it and collect the money. So it will probably work out in the end. Right? (Why yes, YES you did order 10 boxes of Thin Mints, not 1. Sure, we take checks. . . )
Other parts of the moment are all about me feeling like I am doing too much and none of it well. The kids get to school daily, but rarely on time and hardly ever rested, fed, warm, or clean enough for my liking. Homework is hit and miss. My house looks like someone turned it upside down, gave it a good shake, and then put it down again. Dinner tonight? I am horrified to admit it was Annie’s Mac and Cheese, apple slices, and Coconut Shrimp from TJ’s. Not a green thing to be seen. I had chips and salsa and a glass of port, which isn’t really any better. If you need clean socks, they are in the hamper of clean stuff on top of the washer, not in any drawer. Same goes for underwear (unless you are the one adult who lives here. I do put my own away). The yard looks so much like Sanford and Sons that I sing the theme song whenever I walk up to my front door. (That link was close as I can get, because of copyright crap issues.)
I don’t sleep enough, there is a stack of laundry that is taller than me, my car needs servicing, and Lex really, really, REALLY needs a haircut. I spend money I shouldn’t, I work when I should be sleeping and do my banking while I’m in my little grey cube. I have not told my daughter that she’ll probably be getting TWO teeth pulled on Thursday.
I had surgery two weeks ago, and I took a vicodin a couple of days ago because I was tired of listnening to the kids bitch and gripe, not because anything (except for my brain) hurt. The sad thing is that I didn’t even register it. (So I should take two? Or take it with booze?)
I vented to my 12 year old about stuff he shouldn’t have to hear. I told my five year old that I’d hold her if she would Just.Stop.Crying. I recycled artwork that I swore I’d keep. I borrowed money from my kid’s savings account until I get paid on Friday. I was kind of a bitch to my boyfriend (he is patient and kind and I was being a drama queen).
I ignored my next door neighbor when she said hello (because I am not feeling forgiving toward her past horribleness) and I purposefully cut someone off on the freeway.
Maybe I can blame all this negative energy on seeing The Wrestler. Holy crap was that a downer. It was really great, but one of those stories that makes you willing to claim your own problems as yours and move on, grateful to have them.
- Too Much Candy (if this doesn’t melt your heart, you are a robot)
- Meatballs with Pretty Sauce (how cute is she? omg)
- My Sophie, talking to herself under her breath: Warning! Everybody must shake their butts at their bosses!
- A stack of unread books on my bedside bookshelf.
- Sandeman Reserve and a quiet house to drink it in.