I emailed this to a friend I was doing work for, as a sort of “really, I tried to do what you needed but I couldn’t get to it” sort of thing and she suggested I publish it somewhere.
So I am.
Here it is, a glimpse into my glamorous life…
—–and just so you pity me: Monday, I had a simple to-do list. But a simple morning visit with a sick person, a couple of favors for said sick person, and all the sudden I had only time to shop for kids’ projects for art class and food. –so I was grumpy not to have gotten anything done. And then The Man and I started The Great Rug Debate. Originally, I was thinking beige-ish rug for the concrete, big texture, but a friend recommended black. We liked that idea. But then he decided, he wants purple. And he wants is Large. And he wants it Cheap. He finally said words to the effect of, “so just buy something tomorrow.”
And so, on with Tuesday. Woke up at 5, when The Man threw Poppy on me as a sort of ‘good morning’, assuming (I guess?) she’d sleep. Never mind she’d not been taken out all night. So of course, she peed on me, on the down duvet, on the bed, through the mattress cover, through the mattress. So much pee for such a leeetle leeetle body… I’m irritated AND on the rag, and in the process of taking care of said OTR hygiene matters (sorry for TMI) when The Man gets out of the shower, all mortified, (because how dare I not know his shower timing!!???) “do you mind! Can you take care of that some place else??” –so I do. Flipping him off as I do so.
SO THEN, it’s 5 am, I’m stripping the bed, bathing, taking out the dog (not in that order) and then trying to snuggle in with the kid… only she’s a blanket hog and has no duvet since Poppy peed on it four days ago and my laundry room is in too much of a state for me to find the clean down comforter and all three dogs want to get involved with my wrestling-for-at-least-one-thin-blanket-efforts as I try for just 5 more minutes of rest.
But whatever, fine, I’m up. I have to get ready for this meeting, a sort of interview-ish thing in Olympia, and then do my crossing guard (need to get The Kid to tumbling by 8:15, first), and then drive about an hour to Oly. A guy smiles and motions me over in a vague sort of nodding way at the coffee shop meeting place and I think it’s interview dude, only it’s not, and then I feel like an idiot tool, only he’s got the one jack for the computer. SO I can’t even work on anything productive while I wait. Interview happens, and it’s this weird, like, do they like me despite my lack of skills they need? -kind of thing, and it’s all unsettling, and then it’s 11 am, I’ve been gone from the house longer than Poppy’s ever been crated but I think , screw her, I’m going to IKEA because I know that’s about the only place the words “purple rug” and “cheap” can be thought of in the same breath. And I find a purple-ish rug, very purple under IKEA lights, and I shove all 6 feet of them–two of ‘em– into the very tiny Volvo and head home.
Naturally, both rugs look very not-purple in our light. Naturally, Poppy has peed in her crate (making me feel terrifically guilty.) and Naturally, the house is still a mess, there’s still a wet pee spot (un-stinked by Spot Shot for pets) on my bare-ass bed. BUT I have to put clean dishes away, dirty dishes into the dishwasher, take care of hounds, and then get the kid to ballet. I think, alright, I can do what I need to be work-productive at the coffee shop/bakery under the ballet studio. Okeeeedokeeee. Nooooo worries.
I get to ballet to find out, I need to pay for tuition and tutu. I discover, I have no checkbook.
Fuck.
I drive home, deal with pathetic, guilt-inducing hounds, do the frantic whole-house search for check-book…. and then back to ballet.
Then it’s pick up kid, come home, make lame-ass corn-dog and french-fry dinner, get passive-aggressively bitched at by The Man for lame assedness of said dinner, then get asked to help move furniture into his man-den. Naturally, I have a vested interest in getting his shit out of my laundry room, especially since baby dog has just soiled about three loads single-squattedly this morning, and I have no laundering room. SO I help him. And he’s looking distressingly as though he’s about to put the shit all in the entertainment center WITHOUT DUSTING. did I mention the dust he created with the sanding of concrete? I start dusting, I’m progressively pissed-er, he’s all, “I’ll do it, Jess” –as he wipes a speaker with his shirt– (sure, you’ll do it, JackAss) –AND THEN I can start dressing both bare-ass beds, The Kid’s (where I suspect I might sleep) and ours…
–So then FINALLY I get to my computer, and The Kid is on her Moshi Monsters and she’s all emo because she’s changed its color forever, and I’m like, “guh!?” and she’s crying, “you don’t care and you just can’t understand because You’re NOT A Kid.”
Umm. Right.
SO I’m on the computer and he’s hooking up his SURROUNDSOUND!!!!! and it’s like I’m in a bad apartment with neighbors from hell and then Abby comes upstairs and says, in a kind of, “hmmmph” tone, “Dad knows just what to say to make me feel better.”
…and with all that, I knew I needed a big, fat glass of wine and bedtime.
with the peeing little dog.
because she knows just how to snore to make me feel better.
