...it's 10:30 PM, end of the day, you're exhausted and your eight-year-old still wants to watch TV and stay up. You finally get him settled in (oh, and the weather outside is howling and thundering, because of the tropical storm lumbering past...) and tiptoe past your slumbering spouse. He seems comfy and cozy on the couch, and you don't want to disturb him. Besides, he wakes up like you've just stuck him with a pin, so that is to be avoided as well. At 2:30 AM, you both wake for a tinkle call, so you go get him off the couch to sleep in the nice dark bedroom on the nice comfy bed. He follows you in, and then proceeds to keep you up for an hour snoring.
...you're at the post office with the outgoing mail, gathered from the front seat of your car. You drop the bundle into the collection bin, only to realize you've just dropped a $10 bill in with the mail. That $10, the "snack bank" refund from summer camp, was wrapped in a sheet of paper with your child's name on it, and the bill was stapled to the paper. Ugh. And now, you must go back to the post office, offer a detailed description of the tenner and its accompanying apparatus and simultaneously admit how much of a dumbass you've made of yourself.
...you sneeze so completely suddenly and unexpectedly, you don't have time to cover or kleenex, and on top of it, you have a mouthful of Cinnamon Pecan Special K commingled with Cinnamon Toast Crunch (my current fave breakfast - cereal blending is the new thing...) and it goes all over your shirt and you don't have time to change. Yikes.
... your husband has the nerve to grumble and be in a bad mood when you wake him up at the very last minute before you leave for work (after cleaning up the cereal explosion) so he can let in the washing machine repair guy to fix the washer, which has been making a terrible dying cat screech for a while, and is only a year old.
... the washing machine repair guy gets to the house and can't make the washer make the noise it makes EVERY time you wash. And so now, you have to take your lunch hour and wash a load and make it make the noise and stop the washer and call the guy and wait for him again so he can hear the noise and try to fix the washer.
...despite your best intentions and determination, you can't shake the small cloud above your head, making you find things to hate. And now, you've gone and blogged about it and your husband might be pissed, yet another thing you hate when it happens. Oh well. Hand me a blanket to cover my sleep-deprived, cereal-specked, dumbass head. I'll be in the laundry room, listening to the noise, waiting for the guy.
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