OMG. I’m having the worst case of NotPMS-PMS-Crankyassitis EVAR tonight.
The good news? I realize this.
The bad news? Dan realizes this, too, and has unfortunately born the brunt of my frustrations this evening.
I do not know what is up with me. I know I was out of my prescription for Sunday and Monday because of Labor Day and the pharmacy being closed, but I’m on the meds and the stay-awake stuff the Rude Doctor Lady gave me (which isn’t working so well because it’s NOT WORKING…bummer…) and I’m eating and I’m sort-of sleeping and I shouldn’t be cranky but I’m all zoned out and irritable.
Maybe chocolate would help. Or wine. Too bad I have neither. (TRAVESTY!!!)
Isn’t it awful when you realize you’re in a foul mood and feel completely incapable of doing anything to rectify the mood?
I’ll answer that for you.
HELL YES, IT’S AWFUL.
I mean, I had a decent day at work, all things considered.
(Except for the fact that someone has decided to bar my deceased student’s mother from purchasing a page in the yearbook in his memory. And as such, in order to be “fair,” the parents of the other two students who passed away last year, one from medical issues and one from a boating accident, can’t purchase ads either.
I’m ALL SORTS of PISSED OFF about that.)
But my students are settling into the reading. We’re moving along nicely in all of my classes. I got the go-ahead for our 9th grade guest speaker and I’m excited to hear him. It was mostly a good day today, really.
But then it just suddenly wasn’t a good day anymore.
Joshua was kind of a whiny cranky mess this afternoon.
Wednesdays are my day to not have practice after school. I get to leave work at a reasonable time and come home and cook dinner and do the home-y things I’m supposed to do (that I am currently NOT doing because of said awful mood).
I should look forward to picking my child up and spending time with him and sometimes I don’t. And I hate that sometimes I don’t. But, honestly, sometimes I don’t. UGH. Mama FAIL.
I can’t do the things I feel like I need to do with a child who whines for everything and nothing. I love him. I do. But the whining is exhausting. It completely zombifies me in a little bit of no time.
First he’s whining because he wants something to drink. I give him a cup with some water. Then he’s whining because he wants a cracker. I give him a cracker. Then he’s whining because he doesn’t want THAT cracker. He wants a different cracker. Or a ball. Or goldfish crackers. Or a pony. Or world peace. Or a Maybach.
(Click that link. But be prepared for your jaw to hit the ground and your rational senses to start screaming about that ridiculousness. And honestly, there’s a greater chance I’ll be able to give Joshua world peace than there is that he’ll ever get a Maybach from his mama.)
He just wants to be held and he decides that’s what he wants after I’ve already started cooking dinner. And there are pots and pans a-goin’ on the stove and he’s all grabby and I can’t have him grabbing at the stove. And I can’t brown the ground beef without pushing it out of the skillet because I can’t hold him and the skillet handle. And I’m all stressed and I forget to drain the hamburger meat so the spaghetti is extra delicious (read: fattening). Nor can I drain the noodles with one hand whilst I continually hoist the child up onto my hip with the other hand.
The Hindu show the “mother goddess” (who, apparently, according to my Google has no less than EIGHT names and personalities, some nice and some evil…how…fitting?) as having multiple arms. And I remember an episode of Charmed where Piper turned into this goddess (and Leo was the male version and they couldn’t ::ahem:: or the world would explode or something euphemistic like that).
I could use multiple arms. I wouldn’t like eight because that’d make me all spider-y. And four just seems like I’m selling myself short. So I’d take six, I think. Six sounds good, if not a little ant-like. But ants are hard workers, right? So, if I’m a mom and a teacher and a wife and a daughter and a friend and a ME, then I’m sort of like an ant. So, six arms it is. Sign me up.
And now I’ve got something all cattywumpus in my lower back from hoisting the cranky toddler. (Who, I might add, thought it would be GREAT fun to whack me in the head with a plastic ball this evening.)
Let’s all take a moment to acknowledge the fact that I realize I’m being ridiculous. That in and of itself proves I’m actually rational and NOT ridiculous, right? Isn’t that what a Catch-22 is?? Somebody get Yossarian or Joseph Heller on the phone and let’s ask them. Tomorrow. Right now I’m going to bed.