The Day Of All The Grumpy

I’m just going to go ahead and say it.  I’m going to say it without sprinkling any sugar on it or shaking on a layer of colored sprinkles to disguise it a little bit, so that it looks like a big pile of HAPPY.

I have actually enjoyed being crabby today.

Whew!

What freedom there is in just confessing that!  I was crabby today, and I was very content in all of that crabbiness, and I seemed to thrive on WHAT CAN I SAY THAT’S RATHER GRUMPY NEXT TO SOMEONE?

I’ve had one of those days where if it could go wrong, it did go wrong.

I think I’m smack in the middle of a CHANGE OF LIFE PREVIEW.  As in, I think my hormones are failing me, and letting me know what I have to look forward to, even though I’m barely a day over twenty-four.  I keep getting hot, hotter, and hottest, every single day, and have for months and months now… but today!  Well, today was a BUCKLE YOUR SEAT BELT AND LOVE JESUS, BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT COULD HAPPEN FOR ALL OF ETERNITY, AS FAR AS TEMPS GO, IF YOUR TRAVEL VOUCHER INDICATES A SOUTHERN DESTINATION sort of day.  It was the sort of day when I could have made it snow indoors, had I set the air conditioning controls to the spot where I wanted them.

Thing 2 ate a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips for breakfast, because it’s what he helped himself to in the pantry, while I was showering.  Hubs was on Toddler Control at this point, but somehow the chips came out.  And then somehow Thing 2 dumped the entire bag of chips onto my bedroom floor and stomped them into salty dust that smelled like pickles.  The mess was reminiscent of a war zone, and the grease spot on my hardwood floor was nothing short of an oil spill that needed immediate attention to keep slippered feet from just WHOOSH!  At my age, we can’t afford to have oil spills on the hardwood floors, because I COULD SNAP A HIP IN HALF.

If I hear another one of the songs that Barney sings with purple gusto and purple excitement and purple enthusiasm, I will probably need to just lie down in the fetal position and sob.  This giant dinosaur is on my last nerve, and I can’t understand why my baby is so comforted by these songs yammering away in the background of his day.  This was not the life soundtrack I would wish upon anyone, and yet, when Barney’s vocals are cut off, Thing 2 becomes very vocal about the indignities of the power cord being pulled on his musical selections.  So we either listen to Barney sing… or we listen to Thing 2 wail.

And?  Is this a safe place?  Is this a place where things can be shared without judgement?  Just keep in mind that you should never judge a person based on her cats.  What I’m about to tell you is beyond gross, but listen:  We have two cats.  They are both horribly naughty, and I know that they’ll live to be eighty-seven, because the bad ones always do.  And one of those cats has… (I can barely speak of it)… well… (I can barely admit it)… ahem… peed on my family room carpet.  Naturally, the first thing anyone smells when they open our front door is the acidic stench of I AM CAT, HEAR ME ROAR and THIS IS MY TERRITORY THAT I HAVE MARKED, SO JUST GET YOUR CHUBBY CABOOSE ON ALONG NOW BEFORE I DISEMBOWEL YOU AND MAKE YOUR FAMILY WONDER WHY YOU NEVER CAME HOME.  And then I tend to over-explain things, because YES, IT’S A SMELL THAT CAN BE SMELLED FROM THE DRIVEWAY, WHEN OUR FRONT DOOR IS OPENED.  I ended up in a deep conversation with the Schwan’s man, who had the misfortune of ringing our doorbell today, about I MAY TAKE TWO CATS FOR A DRIVE IN THE WOODS THIS AFTERNOON.  Apparently, I feel the need to just tell every visiting guest that YES, I AM AWARE THAT OUR HOUSE NOW SMELLS LIKE A PORTABLE POTTY ON FIRE, so you don’t have to go home and wrinkle your nose and tell your own family, “I’m not sure they even realize that their family room smells like death.”  Oh, I’m aware of it; it happened this week, and I AM AWARE OF IT.  And my checkbook is about to become aware of it, too, because I’m going to need some professional cleaning help.

And after that, I may need professional counseling help.

Hubs told me the other day, “Did you hear?  We’re back-to-back World War champions!  We should have T-shirts printed!”  Hubs thinks he’s terribly funny.  However, today my house looks like both of those wars took place in my kitchen.  And in my dirty clothes hamper.  And in my living room.  And in the boys’ bedrooms.  And both bathrooms.  And obviously it smells like they happened in my family room, where all the carpet is.  I had such big visions at the end of May of this sparkly house that would last all summer, because YAY!  We would be home, and the boy and I would keep things under control on the Clean Front, because YAY!  We would have all of this unstructured time to devote to such tasks.  And somewhere between I HAVE A 10:30 TEE TIME TODAY AND NEED A RIDE and THE REFRIGERATOR IS EMPTY AGAIN and WHO IS GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE? and EYE DOCTOR APPOINTMENTS and ORTHODONTIST APPOINTMENTS and LET’S MEET AT THE PARK and CAN YOU PICK ME UP FROM THE GOLF COURSE NOW?, we seem to have just given up on bringing out the vacuum cleaner any more.  I just wish I could find a good maid, who cleans for zero American dollars.  Basically, I’m looking for a Disney fairy with a magic wand.

I tried to download a program onto my Big Mac computer this morning, so that I could start a little photo book project.  Normally, I don’t even attempt such things on my own, because… well... I have Hubs.  It would be like trying to cut your own hair, when you’re married to a hair stylist.  Why would you even bother?  At our house, if it’s computer-related, it goes to Hubs by default.  Bless his heart.  But this morning, in the middle of all of my I AM SO SUFFERING A HOT FLASH, I decided that I could handle this endeavor on my own.  I read the directions first, which I thought was really going to work in my favor, because what Hubs always fails to do is READ THE INSTRUCTIONS.  And then I CLICKED HERE and CLICKED YES and CLICKED THAT’S FINE, and my computer said, “Keep things quiet for a moment; I’m very busy fulfilling your request and making a download happen.”  My joy knew no boundaries, because LOOK WHAT I AM HANDLING ON MY OWN!  I thought about popping the cork on a bottle of champagne and throwing confetti, but then I remembered that we no longer vacuum over here, and we’d have confetti on our floors until December.  And then my computer aborted the download and flashed me a message that said, “Download has failed.”  There was no reason given.  There was no explanation.  There was no feedback on what I did wrong, or what needed to happen.  There was no phone number to call to express my confusion and grievances.  My Big Mac failed me, and that was that.  So I tried THREE MORE TIMES, and three more times we went through the same process, which is why the Big Mac is now in a pillowcase with both cats, in the back of my Suburban, awaiting a drive into the country.

Also?  My friend, Melanie, is the queen of the messy hair bun.  I wish I were the queen of this trendy hairstyle, but the honest truth is that I am truly lacking talent in getting my hair buns to cooperate.  There is the messy bun… and then there is the MESSY BUN, and the second one is the one that causes snickers to happen behind your back at the grocery store checkout aisle.  Melanie has given me some pointers and has showed me how to do them, and then she guided me to You Tube.  I had no idea that if you just typed in HOW DO I EXPERIENCE SUCCESS WITH A MESSY BUN?, videos will pop up all over the place, with darling little college sophomores showing you how to do your hair.  I watched them with great attention; I even watched them a second time, to make sure I knew what I was doing.  And on Monday, I pulled off the cutest messy bun of my life.  I looked at it in the mirror, and I ADMIRED that sucker.  I held my hand over my heart, and I felt the Messy Bun Pride, and I thought to myself, “I have arrived!”  So today, I tackled the thing again, with a confidence level that was as high as the temperature on my hot flash, and listen.  What I ended up with today was a little droopy thing that looked like a clump of poo clinging to the back of my head for dear life.  I reworked that messy bun, over and over and over, until the curse words were building up inside of my throat, and then I gave up.  And that’s when I realized that thirty minutes of ratting your hair and ripping out hairbands will leave your hair with creases, and GOOD LUCK WEARING IT DOWN TODAY.  So that explains why today was very possibly one of the worst hair days of my adult career.  I’m sorry, Melanie, but your apprentice has failed.

And of course people wanted dinner around here tonight, too.  And since we had Tuesday Sale-Night Pizza (Any pizza!  Any size!  Any toppings!  Ten dollars!), I really felt like I should COOK tonight.  Taking a hot flash to the stove is every bit as lovely as you think it might be.  Every.  Bit.

And through all of this today, I have just ENJOYED my grumpiness.  I have even said the words that, “Mama is a touch crabby today, so you might want to stay in your bedrooms and clean things up in there, and try to appease her with Clean Room Offerings of Peace.”

I hope that y’all will come back tomorrow night, after learning tonight about my awful mood.  And the awful smell of CATS ABOUT TO DIE in my house.  And I’m hoping with every fiber of my being that tomorrow will be a better hair day and a better hormone temperature, too.

Y’all have a very merry Wednesday night.

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