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.


5 Replies to “done.”

  1. Aw, Meg. I love you and really praying that your day is much, much, MUCH better. Hopefully you've had the chocolate for lunch today and the Ugg boot has miraculously appeared.


  2. oh, dear, that IS a horrible, good, very bad kind of day (btw, i used that phrase just two days ago, knowing it originated from some foggy childhood source, but not being able to put my finger on it. now you've placed it for me).
    also, i understand the hatred of losing things. i feel similarly. and this year, in the course of our move, i lost my brand new lands end down coat (one of the only clothing items i have bought brand new in a long time), but didn't realize it for months later. upon retracing my steps, i realized it had been thrown in with the goodwill donation bag and is now irrevocably gone. sigh.
    good news is Papa provides replacements.


  3. Megan,I remember reading that book to you as a child.But the great thing about time is I swear I can hardly remember any of the bad times. I'm glad neither of us went to Australia, or anywhere else to find a better life.In just a few years you too will be blessed with parental amnesia and will laugh yourself into prayer with the blessings of your children. Right now go hide all sharp objects and call me before you look for tickets.
    Love, Dad


  4. i get it. get. it.
    viv is missing an ugg boot too and i have lost count of the number of times in the past several days i have said,, “we can't go on like this,” and “i will not have children who _______” and “if I have to ______ one more time, I”m going to __________” and “things are going to change around here, because (we can't go on like this!)”
    some days i wonder who behaves worse: me or the children.



  5. Been there, done that Megan!
    Glad to hear I'm not the only one.
    It's usually me threatening to throw away all the “crap” in big black garbage bags….
    I think two weeks off is too long – that's the bottom line. Oh – yes, I also say weekly, “I'm not a waitress….stop giving me orders”. Although each week I continue to take them and really wouldn't have it any other way!


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