December 4, 2008 by Marj Hatzell
Oy Vey. Last night went from bad to worse. Apparently the good karma fairies were busy and sent me the proverbial black cloud instead. At one point I had my neighbor’s daughter talking to me, Bugaboo screaming and crying, the phone ringing, the door bell chiming, the dog barking and Bug Boy whining…all at the same instant. Oh, and the smoke alarm was going off, too. And this was the precise moment that I opened the steak for dinner, only to find that it turned GREEN and wasn’t close to going out of code. Also? Bills in the mail. And I tripped on the dishwasher door, adding to my collection of sexy leg scars (right next to the bad shaving accident).
And then I died. The end.
When I came back to life, I took a deep breath, told everyone to shut the h-e-hockey-sticks up (I used those words, I sware. Swear, even.) and rethought dinner, put swimming fish on the computer for Bugaboo, told Bug Boy to get away from me and let in the other neighbor kid who kept ringing the @*&% door bell. I also resolved to have a very stiff drink later. You know, 2% alcohol? Yeah, I’m hard core.
I know everyone needs to have a crappy day once in a while. After all, if you don’t have sh*t in your life, how are you ever going to appreciate it when you have a totally awesome and rad day? You won’t. If you never have trials in your life you will never be prepared when the sh*t hits the fan. Yes, I’m aware I’m cussing alot today. I cuss like a drunken sailor. In fact? I am fairly certain that when Bugaboo DOES learn to talk? His first words might be, “Mommy! G-d Damn it!” or, “Mommy! F*ck!” If his first words are actually polite and eloquently spoken it will be further proof that the child is either someone else’s or the devil’s spawn.
I’ve been having those weird dreams again. When I finally fall asleep, that is. I am sure the sleep issue is causing 90% of my ills. The other 40% is normal everyday stress (Yes, I am aware that makes 130%. I’m the math teacher, not you. It’s the new math.). But when I dream? I dream of my friend in St. Louis having a fire in her trailer and no one can tell me how they are doing. Or, the neighbor gives me her sweet little cutie of a baby (NOT going to happen) or I have a baby myself, except I don’t know it, until I come into the room and there she is and she’s all, “MOM! Where have you been for seven years!” and I’m all, “OMG! I don’t remember having you! WAAAAAAH!” And I cannot interpret dreams, except I am fairly certain my subconscious is trying to tell me that:
a) I want to have a baby
2) I am not paying enough attention to the kids I have
d) I am not spending enough time with my husband.
Only one of these is the correct answer. After being treated to two dates in a row, the husband and I do not have a scheduled date this weekend. The truth is that if I don’t get out with him I don’t get to spend time with him. By the time we get the kiddies to bed we both collapse into a heap on the couch, either playing stoopid flash games on the ‘puters or watching lame TV because we are too tired to change the channel. Inevitably, one of us falls asleep on the couch or stares at a screen too long and before we know it we are shutting out lights and coaxing the dog in with dog treats because she has to catch ONE! MORE! RABBIT! and we are tired and want to go to bed.
It also isn’t helping that Bugaboo currently sleeps in our bed, I usually sleep with him and the husband sleeps in Bugaboo’s room, because it is quiet and he has to get up for work the next day. Yeah, we aren’t liking this arrangement at all. Let’s just say we are considering spending a ridiculous amount of money to put a flat screen TV in Bugaboo’s room (with a DVD) so that he can hopefully be more comfy in his room, falling asleep in his bed watching Thomas. OVER. AND. OVER. I am telling you, if I hear that theme song one more time I am going to regurgitate my ovaries.
So there you have it. After yesterday’s catharsis, I am back to my normal, everyday, snarky self. Back to caring how many pile of laundry I have (six at present) that my sink wasn’t emptied before I went to bed last night (Flylady would not be amused) and contemplating another increase in my little blue happy pills. Except they are white right now, I’m thinking of going back on the blue ones since I ate a whole box of pop tarts lats night (bad side effect of the white ones). Oh, and looking forward to tonight’s dinner of spaghetti with meat sauce, since it is GUARAN-FREAKING-TEED that Bugaboo will actually eat it, and I won’t go to bed feeling guilty that the kid subsists on granola bars and cheese bagels. But since everyone else’s five-year-old lives off of hotdogs and bowls of cereal, I’m wining this round, eh?