This morning was one of those mornings. I should have known that it wasn’t going to be a great one when I didn’t get to bed until 1 o’clock last night and then my alarm went screeching off at 6:00 AM. You know those freakishly annoying people that are fully functional with five hours of sleep? Yeah, I am not one of them. Needless to say I smacked the crap out of that stupid alarm and tried to go back to sleep for a few minutes or hours.
The reason I didn’t get to sleep until 1:00 had to do with the fact that I stayed up late attempting to rescreen a screen door. It was imperative that I get that damn door fixed last night. Why? I’m not sure. I just told myself that, and by gum, I was going to fix it. It had been torn for months and, just recently, a bunch of other crap started to fall apart in our house. I was tired of our house looking like a fraternity house, so I decided I was going to fix that door so I would feel like some progress was being made. I went to the store and bought a new door, but when I got it home, could not get it to fit in the door jamb. No matter how much I tried, that door was not going into that space any more than my ass is going into my old, size 6 jeans.
Apparently our home builders used a “custom” sized door (a.k.a. as cheap as humanly possible) so the standard issue doors for sale at Lowes would not work. I was informed by the not at all helpful Lowes employee that I could special order a new door, but it would cost 6X as much as the standard sized ones. I decided instead to rescreen the one we had. How hard could it be?
My husband did not feel that the door had to be repaired on this particular night. Probably because it was 40 degrees and raining out, and, also, because we had 8 million other things to do. I would have been okay without his help, but I quickly found out that this was a two person job. Or, maybe just a different person job. I don’t think “screen door repair specialist” will ever go on any of my future resumes.
Thus began a battle yet again caused by my OCD-ness and my husband’s laissez-faire attitude regarding home repair. One time Mr. Wizard asked me what “laissez-faire” meant. I said “oh, like, ‘nonchalant’, like ‘let it go’”, and we all know what happened next. The world will never be able to hear the phrase ‘let it go’ again without bursting into song. Thanks a lot Disney. After some pulling and swearing and broken fingernails, I threw the door outside and gave up for awhile. The screen is not yet fixed.
I went to bed mad; mad at the screen, mad at my husband, mad at Walt Disney, and so did not wake up in the best mood. As I was rushing around trying to get ready for work I had to go to the bathroom. I was very, unpleasantly surprised to see that a monthly visitor had shown up. Uninvited. I reached under the cupboard to find the supplies for the unwelcome guest and was again unpleasantly surprised to find an empty box under the sink. What the? “I’m sorry aunt Flo you can’t stay, we don’t have enough bedding for you.”
So I scrambled around trying to find some sort of back up. Maybe a pad of some sort? Even a little liner would’ve been fine. I refuse to call it a ‘panty liner’ because I think the word “panty” is stupid. But I did not have a little liner. Oh no. The only thing I had was from my hospital days after birthing my last child. It was one of those gigantic, 6 inch thick, diaper-like pads that they give you in the hospital to catch that ridiculous amount of grossness that comes out of your body after pushing out an 8 lb being from an absurdly small orifice. I did not have a panty liner, I had an ocean liner.
I got myself and my annoying visitor under control and headed (well, waddled like I was riding a gigantic steed) downstairs to get Little Man in the car so we could leave for daycare and work. Every morning the dude eats two toaster- heated frozen waffles with a teensy amount of peanut butter in the middle. This morning we did not have any peanut butter. It is generally such a small amount I didn’t even think he would notice. I was wrong. Very wrong.
“I WANT PEANUT BUTTER!!!”
“Buddy, that is NOT how we ask for things. Use nice words please.”
“Mommy, may I have some peanut butter please?”
“No, I’m sorry, we don’t have any peanut butter. But thank you for asking nicely.” That wasn’t very nice of me, getting his hopes up and all……
“Would you perhaps like some jelly? Or, I don’t know, call me crazy, SYRUP??”
“NOOOO!!! I WANT PEANUT BUTTER!!!”
“Buddy, we don’t have any peanut butter.”
“Then you have to GET SOME!”
“Yes, I will have to get some. But now Mommy has to go to work. Would you like something else on your waffles or do you want them plain?”
“I want ketchup.”
I laughed. “You can’t have ketchup on your waffles, silly. How about some syrup?”
He looked at me with wide, serious eyes. “Why can’t I have ketchup?”
“Because that’s disgusting.”
“No it’s not, it my favorite.”
“Waffles and ketchup are your favorite??? I find that hard to believe.”
“I WANT KETCHUP!!! IT’S MY FAVORITE!!!!”
I mumbled under my breath “Jesus.” Or maybe it was a prayer. I needed serenity at that moment.
I got out the ketchup and had to verify this atrocity before actually pouring it.
“You are sure you want KETCHUP on your chocolate chip waffles?”
“You’re sure? Because I can get some sy—-”
“I want KETCHUP!!!”
He ate it, I gagged, we got in the car, and thus began another day. If you need me tonight I will be popping Midol like it is candy and wrestling with a screen door.