June 16, 2009 by Marj Hatzell
I’ve been in kinda a pissy-crappy mood lately. Like, premenstrual without the menstrual. Or sometimes with the menstrual. Either one. I have no patience and I’m not sure why. Actually, I am pretty sure I know why.
- It could be because My mom is back in the hospital. Three days after she was released from the scary-local-general hospital that she insists on going to because “All of her doctors are there and they know me.” I ended up having to call 911 because she had a pancreatitis attack and she had this teensy problem with an abdominal bleed. The worst part is that she felt like total SH*T and they sent her home from the hospital anyways. Her entire abdomen is purple and after four transfusions they aren’t getting anywhere and they may have to operate so she doesn’t bleed to death. Except they cannot operate because her blood is too thin and she might bleed to death. Go figure.
- Or it might be because it is summer, my kids are home and my house is in shambles. I cannot even get dinner made when Bugaboo is home. Thankfully, he’s only home for three weeks. Unfortunately, he’s home for THREE WEEKS. That’s twenty-one days, for those of you not good at math. Since he is usually fine for two days and then goes completely nuts, he was already not sleeping and going off the deep end by Saturday night, the same night I had to call 911 for my mother for the abdominal bleed that she thought would “go away” and she “didn’t want to worry anyone.”
- I’m not sure, but I’m leaning towards my trip to Panera. Usually during the week, the ladies that work there are pleasant and happy and smiley. And they get your food and they are nice and they get the order right. In the summer and on weekends, The Most Miserable Teenagers in the Whole Wide World work there. I’m not kidding. They sigh heavily when you order (because, you are bothering them, I suppose), correct you when you call something by the wrong name and SCREW UP YOUR ORDER. This morning I ordered a plain toasted bagel with plain cream cheese and an untoasted asiago for Bugaboo. They gave me both bagels toasted. And low-fat cream cheese. And I’m all, “WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY WITH THE LOW-FAT CREAM CHEESE, CHICA?” And I wanted to march right back in there and say, “I KNOW I GAINED TWENTY POUNDS BUT DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED THIS? HUH? DO I?” You shouldn’t mess with me when I’m sleep deprived and so stressed out because HELLO, I GET IRISH.
- My husband is just as much work as my kids. He needs attention, he gets whiney, he complains about stuff and he can’t find a freaking thing. You know that old saying, “If it were a snake, it would have bitten you?” My husband would have been dead from massive trauma in the first year of marriage if he was looking for snakes. I mean, ON YOUR DRESSER? Your shoes are RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT THEM, in the middle of the FAMILY ROOM FLOOR. Which, by the way is where they belong because, you know, it’s not like we have a SHOE CABINET IN THE FOYER OR ANYTHING.
- Speaking of husband, you know how I have twenty-one days left with Bugaboo (but who’s counting?) and I’m a little stressed out? Well, I got four hours of sleep on Saturday into Sunday (the very day I called 911 for my mother, y’all) and asked for a nap Sunday afternoon and got the whiney “But I’m tired too! What about me! I need a break!” And I was all, “HELLO???? Starting tomorrow this kid will be up my arse for the next three weeks! I need AN HOUR. ” So he begrugingly did it (I know where Bug Boy gets it) but the entire time Bug Boy went in and out of the house and slammed doors and made the neighbors’ daughters scream because he was slingshotting water balloons at them and then he turned the hose on and was spraying the side of the house NEXT TO MY BEDROOM and then I gave up taking a nap.
- I’m keeping a tally of how much sleep I lose this time that Bugaboo is on break. He has been off since last Thursday. So far I did not get eight hours of sleep on Saturday, Sunday or Monday evenings. I’m already ten hours in the hole. I’m keeping this tally because when he goes back that’s how much time I’m going to spend in bed. Meaning, I’m putting him on the bus and the world will cease to exist and I’m turning off phones, handing the computer to Bug Boy and saying, “DON’T COME AND GET ME UNLESS YOU ARE ON FIRE OR DEAD.”
- And I still don’t know where Bugaboo is going to school this fall because he needs a private placement (approved by the state and school district and tuition is paid by them). He hasn’t gotten into our first choice yet. He did get into numbers two and three. Number One is going to evaluate him next week (Pleaseohpleaseohplease) so it is a step in the right direction. But if he doesn’t get into number one I’ll scream and cry and beg and plead and if that doesn’t work, I’ll die.
- Also? Bugaboo? Please stop pinching. And start sleeping. Kthxbai.