I had a fantastic post planned for today, but I’m not going to write it now. I can say it was fantastic because you won’t see it today. It could be utter crap, and you will never know. Well, you will when I post it, but you just won’t know if it’s the thing I was talking about today or not. It will just be this golden post full of promise, instead of the garbage that was most likely going to grace my blog.
I’m not posting it because I’m in a horrible mood. I won’t do it justice. I will reword it to death, and it won’t be funny, and I will get even angrier. Then I will blame you. Yes, even you will catch the hell that has been my garbage attitude for the past two days. Maybe it’s the fact that I looked at the calendar and I realized that we only have seven weeks of summer left that started it, or the fact that everywhere I look bitches are selling back to school stuff.
Just let us enjoy our DAMN SUMMER, ASSHOLE!
Gah, I just want to eat ice pops until the corners of my mouth bleed, and watch cartoons with my kids until our brains turn to goo right up until the very last second. Is that too much to ask for? IS IT?! Then there’s my house that won’t just stop. It’s obsessed with me I think.
Every time I turn around it’s dirtier, stickier, and there seem to be clothes and dishes that I didn’t know we even owned that need to be washed. Who bought this crap? Yesterday was the breaking point for me. I had to run errands, which I didn’t want to do. I wanted to sit and wallow in the fact that summer is slipping through my fingers, and Netflix won’t send my muthafuckin’ movies, even though it’s obviously an emergency. My kids NEED to see those old ass movies from my childhood so they don’t grow up weird, or become murderers. Why does Netflix want my kids to be weird and murder people?
I left my house anyway. I just got grouchier as the day progressed. I mean, I had to put on underwear. I was already in violation of, like, five of my summer rules. By the time I had the pants I had convinced myself that maybe I would find all of the things I needed, Netflix would rain down upon my mailbox, and my kids would be super sweet all day.
None of that shit happened.
Now, my kids tried. When I say tried, I mean they were aware that I am in charge of punishments, and can ruin their lives. That doesn’t mean they didn’t try everything within their power to wiggle as close to my damn nerves as humanly possible without trying to get me put on youtube as one of those, “Look At This Horrible Mom Shaking her Child In The Store Video”. As a paranoid mom, that’s something I worry about. I worry about horrible camera angles catching something that isn’t bad, and turning into something bad. “Oh, you don’t want to finish your candy? Let mommy have a bite.”
Crazy lady posts video with tagline:
“See Monster Mom Eat Daughter’s Arm in Store As Horrified Shoppers Watch” gets three billion hits, CPS takes child, and gets charged with two counts of cannibalism.
Somehow, we made it home. I’m not sure how, but it happened. No one was left behind. I didn’t get the things I needed because I couldn’t find them, but I was capable of doing some deep breaths, and focusing on not driving us right through the Chili’s. You know, the youtube videos.
Once we got home I walked into a dumpster. I wanted to leave, or set it on fire, pack my whole family up, and move into a hotel somewhere. My vacuum cleaner broke, and there are these tiny little centipede bastards that come into my house. They don’t hurt anything, but they are creepy looking. They just come into the house to die, spread their little corpses around and be gross. I refused to cook dinner after that. I was done for the day. I was just done. DONE.
I went to get dinner and picked up some milk candy for myself to keep me from imploding. It erased everything. I was better by the time I got home. I apologized to everyone when I got there for my crappy attitude. I was ashamed of myself for my behavior, but not for eating the candy for just me.
Fast forward to today, and it was great until the cat dropped a giant potato in the crock pot, and then slunk out the front door when my son was taking the trash out this morning. We haven’t seen that furry pile of crap since. My son blames himself, and that is just the worst feeling of all time as a mom. I’ve tried telling him that the cat’s just an asshole, but he’s convinced he did something wrong.
Then there’s my daughter, who is convinced that someone has stolen our worthless cat, and the police MUST be called, and lawyers should be involved. She has been walking up and down the halls of our house screaming about suing since the cat didn’t show up on his own after an hour. I assured her that no one stole the cat. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t trust our shifty neighbors, and that we needed to sue everyone.
I took them to get ice cream. To help the boy cheer up, and to calm her down litigation happy brain. It kind of worked.
But, now the dog has noticed that the cat is missing.
I think my whole family needs a redo day, and I need some more candy.