These Are The Days

There are days when I totally want to stab someone, anyone, in the face with a fork. Of course, I wouldn't actually do that because I am kind of a chicken when it comes to physical violence, and also because I cannot really afford to support anyone else for the rest of my life. I have enough going on as it is.

Instead, I fantasize about stabbing some people in the face with forks. Some days, it actually helps me to feel better, other days, it makes me feel considerably more stabby. It's the Russian Roulette of my life, really.

Let me give you an example of an ordinary day around here and you can tell me what you would do to decrease the stabby in this life.

Wake up, wide awake at 3:30 AM. Fabulous. Also? A bit drunk. Even better. Kid comes out of her room at 4:30 AM bitching that the TV is too loud even though I have been struggling to drunkily read subtitles for the last hour in an effort for people to continue to sleep. Perfect. Let's take a shower.

Kid repeatedly calls me "Fat Amy" (I have no idea) and keeps talking about my flabby tooshie. I briefly consider punching her, but violence never gets me anywhere. Headache starts to creep in, slowly at first and then ratcheting up to a migraine. Awesome.

Kid decides to partially meltdown after shower while I am brushing her hair over the lack of Caillou on the television. Whatever, the last thing my head needs this morning is the un-medicated depression of Caillou. I have enough of that going on at the moment - thank you very much.

That hair takes work, ya'll

Get so flustered that I accidentally use her hairbrush on my hair. Her brush that is filled with Argan oil and leave-in conditioners and detanglers and now it is too late to rinse it out of my hair. As my hair begins to dry it starts to feel like it is coated in a fine layer of man-spunk. Great.

Start to walk out the door to go to work when the screams of a banshee fill the household. "YOU FORGOT TO PACK MY LUUUUUUUUNCH!" she screams as she throws herself onto the kitchen floor in hysterics.

"Too late now, get in the car," I say as she stiffens herself against my touch and begins a high pitched wailing that one should only ever associate with eyewitnesses to mass murder. Half carry, half drag screaming child to car as she repeatedly pitches herself to the ground in the cold January air. Finally, just give up, get in car, close door, start car and begin to drive away from the tear-streaked screaming face just as she panics and tries to get in the car.

Once in the car, girl screaming continues for the next 19 minutes of the 23 minute ride to school. Once she has been signed into school and I turn to say my goodbyes, the girl that I birthed, that I rocked to sleep, that I nursed for a year, sticks her tongue out at me while flipping me the bird!

Wonderful. Good to know that she is learning so much about life this morning.

This all happened before 8 AM, God knows where it goes from there, but I am guessing that it starts with an H and ends in ELL.

At least it's Friday.

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