I know, I know, I just recently posted about the Pit. I’m not in the Pit today, but the cards were stacked against me this morning. Let me tell you about it.
I didn’t sleep well (somebody call the waahhmbulance). Atticus woke me up at 6 having to use the toilet (which is AWESOME). I put him downstairs in his pack-n-play for the rest of the morning, because this girl doesn’t *do* earlier than 7am. I rolled myself out of bed just before 8 and went for a run. My $15 Nike shoes are crap, but I’m not in a position to replace them just yet (because the shoes I want are almost 10x that price), so I wear bandaids on my heels to prevent blisters. Bandaids rubbed off. Fortunately the skin didn’t rip open. But I’ve got a couple lovely souvenirs from my jog.
Daniel has pulled a few long days at work, so he took the day off to work on the other house (either way, he’s still working, right?). He didn’t leave until about 10, but by then, I’d put Atticus in his room about a million times for tantrums (is this the price I pay for letting him sleep in?!!), still hadn’t fed or watered myself, needed a shower to wash off my running stink, and fielded a hundred questions or so from Grey regarding when she’d see her friends next.
*Oh, and I’ve forgotten to mention the female issue I’ve been suffering from for what seems like a thousand days and nights. Erm, do you mind if I actually type out that I’ve got a yeast infection from the very depths of hell? I am a baby about physical pain, but this is the very worst sort. There’s nothing as horrible as pain and discomfort in your most sensitive areas. And, to be frank, it’s like my lady garden has a head cold . . . . Yes, I just typed that. The vileness. This problem that will not die does absolutely nothing for my mood, my temper, my self-esteem, my patience, my new psuedo-resolution, or my generous feelings of love for anyone.
So, Daniel suggested I come down to the house to help him put together the master bathroom. We could put on a movie for the kids and won’t it be so exciting to install the baseboard, sink and toilet? Actually, I’d LOVE to do that. So I started trying to get myself and the kids presentable and ready to leave.
I didn’t make it out the door for TWO HOURS.
Atticus spent much more time in his room than out (given the choice between “fun” and “room” he mostly didn’t choose the former); when he was out of his room I was wrestling him on the bed trying to get his teeth brushed or taking him to the toilet again (and again. and again.). When I took my shower he came into the bathroom needing to pee. I didn’t realize he’d already had a leak in his pants, so I’m half hanging out of the shower trying to strip him and put him on the toilet. Fail. Fail. Fail. Grey was absent most of this time, coloring like a sweetheart at the kitchen table. So since it was almost noon, I fed Atticus, packed Grey’s sandwich into her purse as requested (she’s under some delusional impression that we’re on our way to a fluffy bunny picnic at the old dirty house), finally ate the egg I’d boiled at 9.30, gave Atticus his 7th cup of water for the morning, and convinced myself that drinking while driving is frowned upon for many, many reasons.
Right as I’m finally ready to get the kids in the car it starts to rain (those of you who do or have ever lived in Chattanooga understand that terms like “frog strangler” apply to rains like this morning’s short burst from the heavenlies). Then I get a call from Daniel, “Can you please bring my chop saw.” Of course I responded in a loving voice, telling him I’d be more than happy to load that thing that’s all covered in sawdust into the back of the car during the current downpour. What I really said was I WANT TO RUN AWAY FROM MY LIFE. The kids’ seats were in the Volvo, which was parked down our very steep driveway in the cul-de-sac. After a quick assessment of the situation, I decided it’s be easier to load the saw into the Volvo than to switch their seats into the Nissan (the more child-friendly vehicle). I tromped down in the rain, backed the car into the driveway, loaded the chop saw and the kids, grabbed a mug of tea (for sanity, obviously), locked the house and drove away.
That’s when I noticed the gas light was on.
And remember the rain? Well, the Volvo has a gimp windshield wiper. Gimp. As in, it just sits there, doing nothing except drawing awkward glances from strangers. Fortunately it’s on the passenger side of the windshield.
On our way to the house, I did my best to gently explain to Grey that we were not going to have a butterfly fairy tale pickywicknic at the house, that we were just taking a few things to Papa and then coming right back home (where I can peacefully and privately go crazy). She cried. And I almost did, too. The bathroom tile looks great, but all I could think about was maybe Fudgewrights, my main chocolate supplier, would be open. I drove the slow way through downtown, which was good because I really like downtown (especially after spending a weekend in Columbus where I couldn’t figure out if I was simply nostalgic for the farmland or if my heart actually truly belongs there), but Fudgewrights was closed. *Sad face.*
Oh, well. We made it home in one piece. I didn’t even end up having to get gas. Everybody is fed and now napping, so I suppose the day has sort of redeemed itself. Before her nap, Grey wanted “school time” where she traces letters I write out for her. And she let me read to her from “Dirty Beasts” by Roald Dahl. All in all, it seems she’s fogiven me for my insanity this morning. I think I’ll have some more tea now.