You know how some days you wake up and for reasons unknown, you're just in a crap mood? Ok. Well, that was Saturday. I just woke up grumbly and growly and generally feeling like a zombie-werewolf with PMS. And I didn't have PMS, which makes the whole thing worse, if you ask me.
(Did you know it's really hard to find Zombie pictures that aren't disturbing? You're welcome. Also, did you know Zombies swim whilst walking? I didn't either until I looked at the lady on the right.)
Anyway, our very good friends decided to begin a Family Day Tradition, this year. It was initiated to celebrate the first year they and their son became a family. Last year, on August 23, the wonderful parents brought home their son from Russia. It is a beautiful, wonderful, tear-jerking reason to have a deliciously fun summer party with your kids. Win-win.
Unless you've invited me, and I woke up acting like the above-added image.
I don't know WHAT my problem was, but I was out for blood that morning. Husband, who is usually good at sensing my mood and either getting me out of my funk, or gathering the children and fleeing (whichever seems the best option), was also in a funk from his previously stressful week.
I said something snarky, he replied with a snappy tone. I was actually shocked an annoyed that HE had the audacity to NOT try and get me feeling happier. I mean, really! How rude.
Then Kiddo #1 arrived on the scene and, sensing the tension, began acting (gasp) her age. UGH! 4-year old kids are the worst! They aren't easily distracted like a 2-year old (You're mad? Oh look, there's a puppy!). They have a much longer memory and attention span than a 3-year old (the fits are longer and larger). Plus they're about to start school, so they're nervous and excited and otherwise brimming overfull with energy.
Good HEAVENS! Normally, Kiddo #1 doesn't act like a 4-year old (despite her chronology); because of this, I have a great respect for all parents of crap kids. Rather, I have respect for parents of crap kids that don't leave said kids on the side of the road with a sign that says:
However, when I have days where I want to bust out the bristol board (poster board) and giant Sharpies for my mostly-great kiddo, coupled with my own crap attitude and Husband in a funk, I can only imagine the baby thinks this:
Oh, but wait! All four of us would've been on the curb on Saturday, because Kiddo #1 was crabby and Kiddo #2 was still fighting two ear infections-- he was clingy and, because of teething and whatnot, it was like holding Slimer from "Ghostbusters" more than it was like holding a human child.
Right, and as luck would have it, Family Day, the holiday of bonding, togetherness, of appreciation for the Family you have (lucky!) happened to fall on Perfect Storm Day, the day where all four of us are raging like separate and equally horrible forces of destruction, about to intersect at any moment.
So, after a good night's sleep, and dreaming, but not enough to wake up exhausted, I awoke in a foul mood. I think I opened my eyes and my eyebrows were already knit together like Burt's, but there was no Ernie to cheer me up by singing "Rubber Ducky" because Ernie was snotty, too. Add those freaky "Yip-yip-yip uh-huh uh-huh" things and we're talking about the scariest episode of Sesame Street EVER, and the reality of our house at roughly 9am.
The baby crawled between the three of us like the ball in a pinball machine. Every time he'd touch a person, we'd growl or buzz or send him off to some other side of the house for someone else to growl or buzz for a bit. The dog tried to help him, but babies don't understand not to get under feet, and not to cry or leave trails of slippery slobber on the floor when "The Big Ones Are Stompy."
We took turns eating breakfast-- each one secretly hoping everyone's mood would be lifted once we'd eaten. We had to take turns because when I'm crabby, I can't stand to hear other people chew their food, and Husband can't stand to listen to me exhale with disgust that he's chewing so loudly. Poor Kiddo #1, trying to help but only managing to get underfoot, can't even catch a break because she just slid through the banana peel that is the trail my son left behind his bulbous gums. Now she's bawling because she's hit her head on a block the baby left out and it looks like she's gonna have a big blue bruise where her bindi would lay (if she had one).
Like I said, Perfect Storm.
But, like the calm before the storm, all of a sudden, there was no movement. Husband retreated to the basement to "do something for work" on the computer. I put Kiddo #2 for first nap, which is usually around 10:30 and Kiddo #1 and I agreed that she should spend some quiet time in her room colouring while I spent some quiet time in mine (napping as well, but no one needs to know that).
At noon the doorbell rang. Bing-Bong. I cracked an eye and looked around without making a sound or even changing my breathing. Husband wasn't in bed. Baby hadn't stirred (according to the monitor) and, uh, ooh, Kiddo #1 is snoring softly beside me. How did she ninja in here without me noticing?
I exhale and decide not to get up.
Bing-Bong. A second ring? Surely this is important, like the dog got out (which happens) or the house is on fire or something. I search around and get properly dressed and get to the hallway at the same time as Husband. We whisper, "What? Are you gonna get that?" Husband replies, "No" to my, "Yes."
A $10 donation to some charity for something later, I'm now hopping mad that a) I donated that $$ despite the solicitor's double ring (who does that?) and b) it awoke me from my nap. Husband is hopping mad for those same reasons, actually, and now Kiddo #2 is up and cross. Her snotty "No!" to all communication from us makes the baby awaken. Yeah.
If I could've Ferris Buellered myself outta there with a mannequin and some crappily recorded sounds of snoring, I would have. Believe me.
By the time 2pm rolled around, I'd made none of the salsa I'd promised to bring. My daughter was 1/2 naked, or 1/2 dressed (depends on whether you're a glass half-full or half-empty type of person, I suppose), my son was only in a diaper and one sock, Husband was completely dressed, but looked like he'd forgotten about the party and was instead going to change the oil on our cars (or was dressed for Halloween?) and I didn't have a stitch of make-up on, which effectively meant that I was no where near ready to go. How? Why?
I think, in the future, the night before events I will do the following:
Things I will Do The Night Before Something Fun, Just In Case I Wake Up Stupidly Evil The Next Morning:
1) Dress the kids in their outfits instead of PJs the night before -- there can be no screaming death matches over changing from play clothes into party clothes if they're already in them.
2) Medicate. My father always said if someone is cranky he needs one of three things: a nap, something to eat, or a haircut. I would venture to say there's a fourth thing, and that would be just a little something to take the edge off teething, PMS, being four, and week-of-stress. What that thing is would be unique to the user, I'm sure. I'm thinking, off the cuff here, chocolate or maybe some lip gloss. Or say, a dose of gravol. Whatever. Nothing to mess up your event, just something to distract you from your heinous, terrible attitude. This IS a family blog!
3) Wow. I just used heinous for the first time in, like, 18 years. Wow.
4) Play soothing music with happy birds and river water gently flowing while I sleep so I don't have hostile dreams.
5) Go to bed early.
After we finally (!) got our stuff together we were late enough that we should've shown up with at least one family member actually looking like a zombie so our friends wouldn't hate us. But we didn't. And they, being gracious and kind and wonderful, didn't hate us (openly, anyway). I mean, we ended up being 2 hours late for the party. Hello? Some people have babies in shorter amounts of time. Sigh.
And, guess what happened? Being around wonderful people who care about us suddenly made us remember that we love each other, too. Our moods instantly lifted (except for the pre-schooler, and the pictures of her are proof. Sigh. Oh well. They captured the truth. Snort.) and we had the amazing time I knew we'd have.
So, Family Day next year at our house-- you can't be two hours late to your own party, right?
Doo-do-dodo-duh-do-do-do. Bah-ba-ba-BAH!
(that's the end of "I Dream of Jeannie" in case you don't recognize it)
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