I had a bad day. You know, I try not to gripe and complain in this blog because, let’s face it, I am terribly spoiled. I have a nice house, a sexy husband who runs two vehicles on veggie oil and who can actually fight with a sword (I was always a little embarrassed by those geeky guy friends of mine who had the swords on their wall but couldn’t use it if their lives depended upon it… I love these guys and if you are reading, I’m just kidding… sorta), a couple of adorable kids, a wonderful view of a cow pasture, all of my limbs work well, and if I wore a bikini-which I won’t-no one would be able to see my stretch marks. But you see my point. I lead a very charmed life here in the good
But darn it, I had a bad day. First thing this morning I had to deal with and accept the fact that the grant application I spent the better part of Saturday completing was utterly worthless (unless you want to call it a practice round). It’s too late for me to turn in the application. Never mind the fact that I was unable to log in and I sent emails and tried to call. It was too late. Sorry. Sucker. You lost. For the record, I did not procrastinate. I simply did not know about the grant until Friday night and, even more important, didn’t have our IRS letter until Wednesday so Saturday morning was the earliest I could have possibly worked on the application.
I’ll go on. After that disappointment, I turned into a bit of a pain. I’ve not been sleeping well, which is why I’m sipping on wine as I type for fear that this insomnia is becoming a trend and that I’m doomed to yet another day of grumpiness and lethargy. Since I must care for five children tomorrow, I figure alcohol is in order. Of course, no amount of wine will drown out the sounds of thunder and should I actually conk out, I’m likely to dream of tornadoes all night like I did last week, thank you, Amanda.
So, I was saying that I was a pain. I was a jerk to my kids: refusing to take them to the
Of course, after a little bit of fresh air and an answering machine message from Parent magazine wanting to feature Artsy Mamas in the “Giving Back” section of their July Art’s issue, I couldn’t help but feel a little better.
I cooked organic kale, onions and garbanzo beans with Trader Joe's Masala and the kids lapped it up like it was cake (or cereal these days). I had a conversation with a good friend.
Then, to try and make up for being such a crabby patty, I promised (this time, it was really a promise) that we’d all (yikes, I just volunteered daddy) make a trip to “the bookstore near Target” tomorrow night after dinner. But tonight I’d let them play in the bathtub. AND eat rice dream. Mom is on a roll. No one is angry with her anymore. I’ve promised stuff left and right and I’m smiling. I’ve won them back over.
While Donut and her brother are playing in the bathtub, I decide that I deserve a little R & R. What, you may ask, is my recipe for a nice relaxing evening? Basically I tried to open a bottle of wine, to no avail (apparently you are supposed to remove the paper stuff??? Huh!), gave up and just turned on the new season of “Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List”. Yep, that did the trick. And so did a full episode of “
God’s grace is good because both of my kids passed out before 7:30 and I was even able to transfer them both to bed. Donut was awake again an hour later but that is beside the point. The point is actually that God heard my plea. He heard me say that I needed just an hour away from them. Away from their constant whining and demanding. Of course, an hour is what I got. I should have been more generous to myself and asked for a whole night… heck, a whole day even!
I’m going to start asking for what I need. I need an occasional soak in my Jacuzzi tub. We moved into this house over two years ago and I bet I’ve been in that tub no more than six times. I need to sit on my front porch at night and read a book. I need to buy running shoes and live up to my promise to myself and my friend that I WILL start running. I need to stop typing all of the time because my shoulders start to ache.