It was ONE OF THOSE DAYS. It must have been written in the stars, or at least that's how it seemed when it loudly and rudely began before seven o'clock in the damn morning.
Marc was making coffee and knocked over the spice rack breaking several glass jars. As if that wasn't enough to jolt me awake his yelling loudly for me to get the fuck down here right now was enough to move my ass out of bed. I wasn't the only one who woke up to this and I don't think I need to tell you it was not a cat or a dog.
I've also been battling a little, vaguely minor, ANT problem this week. A few in the kitchen, random ones on the floor in the living room. No real pattern. No real worries. But OH LORDY-E-DEE! This morning there was a festival of them on the floor by the front door. Swarming! Millions and Go-Jillions of ants inside my house!
After a frantic nap-time intruding trip to Target in search of ant-killing products I set up a full-on frontal assault at the front door and in the kitchen and I'm happy to report it well under control after a mid-afternoon surge and change of attack. I have also been vacuuming all day. Ants and broken glass.
Let me paint you a picture here:
Me, on my hands and knees with a flashlight in one hand searching for the origin of the ants and the vacuum hose in the other frantically sucking them up into the purgatory that is the dust bag. The baby is just behind me in the walker. Screaming. And the dog is next to him, BARKING. It was a pleasant family moment that I'll treasure for many many Chardonnay benders to come.
The day never really improved much. It was just a bad cycle Noah crying, Noah trying to stand and falling over, me vacuuming ants and rescuing Noah from falling into the metal frame of the dog-water-bowl-holder after he crawled over and splashed in the water bowl for five hundred-millionth time since lunch.
I was calm. Really. I hadn't yelled. I was just internally stewing. I don't really show anger much around Noah. I think this is a good thing.
While I was feeding Noah dinner a few jars of baby-food fell onto the floor and spilled and I meant to say "SHIT" but it came out as a deep, guttural, unstoppable scream. And then I looked at Noah. And he looked back at me. And he crumbled into a fearful quivering cry and I felt so guilty that I cried too and I held him tightly and whispered that I was sorry and at this moment I KNEW it was time to throw in the proverbial towel and just write off the entire day as FAIL WHALE.
I ended up calling my neighbor friend and I went over and sat on her floor with Noah for about an hour and we played with our babies and laughed about our amazing good fortune, guilt and craziness.
And then I felt better.
Comments