It's the end of the day and I bear a striking resemblance to Roseanne, circa 1990, in both word and deed.
It's been a wear your bathrobe all day, scream your head off all day, kind of day.
Frankly, I'm a little let down. When I woke up this morning I actually didn't feel like I'd been hit by a truck. Which is saying something since I spent the night on high alert. Drew had some, um, digestive issues before bed, and I was worried we were brewing a full blown stomach bug. So, I spent the night like the mother of a newborn who jolts awake every time their baby moves. Don't be fooled into thinking it was deep love that motivated my vigil. I did not want to change the sheets in the middle of the night.
Anyway. I woke up feeling pretty good. No school today so we could move at a leisurely pace. Fixed breakfast, turned on PBS, and moved on to my to-do list. On my to-do list was a call I was so loathe to make. It was a call to the IT department at the fine educational institution I attend. Fact one about me: I HATE talking on the phone. And I super hate making any kind of service call. You would not believe the amount of self-talk that goes on before I dial the numbers. Fact two about me: I'm terrified of any and all IT people. This is because, it has been my experience, they all think I'm an idiot. And, to be fair, I'm not exactly swift when it comes to matters of technology. I can do the basics, but past that it all just swirls together and my eyes glaze over.
I made the call. Turns out my birthdate was wrong in the system. Apparently this causes quite a problem. And also, apparently, the place to work is the Academic Records office because they don't start answering their phones until 10 a.m.
In the midst of all the phone fun was the never ending nightmare that is the potty training of my daughter. Does that sound a little dramatic?? I invite you here. Come and see. I think you might back down off your initial response. By the time I fixed lunch and no one ate it after melting down over the hunger of it all, I was over.it. I put Emily down for a nap, implored Drew to find something to do, read approximately 2 pages of my book club book and slipped into a delicious coma. For around 15 minutes. Then Drew came in to show me he had put all of his Toy Story toys in a garbage bag "just like Andy". Jesus take the wheel...
After nap time we had a birthday party for Grover. Birthday parties for stuffed animals is all the rage at my house right now. I decided to quit stressing for a few minutes and try to have some fun. (I was in major panic mode over all sorts of minutiae today...) I have some serious mom guilt about the fact that I don't really enjoy playing with my kids. Now, give me a craft, or coloring, or a game, and I'm all in. But, just random playing...I'm no good at it. And don't tell me not to feel guilty. I take that about as well as I took being told to "just relax" when I was trying to nurse an infant or two who screamed their ever-loving heads off.
Today, though, I stopped feeling guilty. Want to know why? Because my son is a tyrant. I don't like to play with him because I'm always in trouble for doing it wrong!! It finally dawned on my when he said, "No laughing at this birthday party!" Really?? No laughing at a birthday party? I am SO out of here, then. I was just trying to liven things up with a little "cha cha cha" thrown into the birthday song. Emily thought it was hilarious. Of course, she's the one who got us in trouble...
So, no more guilt. No more will I feel guilty as I mindlessly peruse Pinterest with Drew grabbing at me and saying, "Mom, come play Power Rangers with me." We all know I'd screw it all up and the bad guys would win.