My favorite book when I was a kid was Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Cynthia Voigt. I’m living that book today. If you don’t have it, run to the nearest book shop and get your hands on a copy. Don’t do it so you can empathize with the kind of day I’m having. I mean, I’d welcome your empathy, but get it because it’s prolly one of the best children’s books ever written. And because then you’ll know for real what I’m talking about when I say today is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Tess broke my golden tea cup set from my sister and apologized. Peter broke my glass bowl from Venice and didn’t. I’ve forgiven them both.
I’ve lost one of Lucy’s new Uggs, something that pains me on several levels, firstly because they cost the moon and I only got them three days ago and secondly because I hate losing things. Hate losing things. Seeing red-can’t focus on anything else-tear the house apart-muttering four letter epithets under my breath and crap out loud-HATE losing things. This is a state of mind my very mild mannered, sweet friend Tally (you know who you are) calls ‘wicked pissed’. Nearly a swear, but absolutely accurate.
Went to fold clothes and found the dryer had melted the kid’s new warm nummies, which also cost the moon and are less than a week old. What ensued was a forty minute conversation with Fridgedaire that saw me alternately weeping to Joy in Customer Service and trying not to have a panic attack at the thought of how much money has been lost in this house this morning already and we haven’t even left the building. Now I’ll spend Tuesday afternoon waiting for a repairman who will give me a nineteen (or four) hour window in which he’ll come, say he needs to order a part and I’ll never hear from him again. That’s what happened last time.
Lucy just woke up after exactly one hour and seven minutes, during which I returned two phone calls and got lunch cleaned up and forgot to sit down. Will I never learn?
Mealtimes make me feel completely hopeless. It’s the same five choices every day and no two kids ever want the same thing. Today was left over mac n cheese for Lucy, left over spaghetti for Peter, pb&j for Tess and a salad for Grant and I that was so dissatisfying that I pitched mine to the chickens and wished I’d just gone with the dry cereal and chocolate that I really wanted to begin with.
I’m pretty sure I’m not going to survive Lucy’s toddlerhood with my sanity in tact. A belief that was redoubled when Tess approached me just now with this nugget, “Mom, when we have another boy and it’s a girl can we name her Jewel?” Good Governor. I’m hoping to find internet instructions on homemade tubal ligations involving only an aspirin and some Red Hart yarn. Until then I’ll be researching if boarding school for one year olds is really harmful in the long term or if that’s some liberal spin story aimed at increasing funding for public schools.
Here’s hoping your Thursday is better than mine. And that you haven’t lost any boots or melted any clothes or muttered several times under your breath, “See? This is why some animals eat their young.” If you have, well then, here’s to a better Friday. And to this wonderful reminder, thanks to Peter, that we are all being held. Even storm troopers find rest in the arms of Jesus. This is me. Being real. Done.