So today pretty much sucks.
I don't even...I'm not really...It's hard to...even...ok, there just...there's no...not..I'm....ugh....
Ok. Deep breath....let me try this one more time. We have been reamed. Again. There, I said it.
I want to start off by saying that this morning started off on a high note. It was going along so well, so unusually, care-freely, we-are-a-functional-family-living-a-normal-life-in-the-Latin-American-suburbs well. It was sunny and warm and the birds were singing. And I was Snow freaking White, whistling a happy tune, while I lovingly packed two perfectly well-balanced and nutritious lunches for Dylan and Jamison, started a load of laundry, and wiped up the breakfast mess. This morning was so dreamy, in fact, that my boys were ready to go, shoes tied, backpacks shut, hair tamed, with ten minutes to spare. Ten whole minutes. This NEVER happens in our house, at least not without a whole lot of screaming, and stomping, and maybe some hair pulling, and a bit more screaming.
Usually, I have to drag my youngest child out of bed with a slip-knot on a stick, the kind your local Animal Control uses on things that are foaming at the mouth. Then, I have to run downstairs and put the kids uniforms in the dryer because I forgot to do it the night before. Then I run back upstairs, stick my toothbrush in my mouth and check on their progress. This is the part where I find them huddled together, asleep on the floor, under the covers that they have managed to rip off of the top bunk. So I stand in the doorway with my head tilted back and toothbrush in my mouth, fluffy bits of white spittle flying, while I yell, "Joo guysh vetta huwy uff! Cun on! Ish tine fu frefresh!" After I spit, I run back downstairs and do last nights dinner dishes while shouting "Let's go guys!" again and again and again until those two stumble downstairs. They each eat a bowl of cereal with zombie eyes, and then shuffle around bumping into things until they hear the school bus chugging up the street. And this is the exact moment every day that they become coherent.
All of a sudden, going to school in boxer briefs doesn't seem like such a great idea. In a panic, we all scramble to get them both into the correct uniforms, with hair combed, and shoes on the right feet. Then this happens, "Oh, Mom, I need you sign this!" and "Oh, Mom? I was supposed to bring 30 plastic spoons today." and "Hey Mom, do we have a bag of colored marshmallows? They were due yesterday.... and with a seven foot piece of nylon rope....and a sheet of bubble wrap....and one hundred and eighty purple toothpicks." Every day, that's how it goes. Everyday. Except for today.
Today, Jamison woke up happy. Which was weird, but nice. And Dylan managed his time without my constant nagging. Today, I brushed my teeth without interruption. And at breakfast they actually..spoke, like, nicely...to each other. And so the whole morning was just very pleasant. I could hear the coffee pot hissing and gurgling, the last throws of perfect percolation, as I kissed my boys on the forehead and pushed them out the door. It was gonna be a good day.
So like twenty seconds later, I hear the guard go by on his bicycle. He has a horn that he honks to let the neighborhood know that he's doing his hourly patrols. Honk-honk-honk. It's like the same horn that I had on a bike when I was eight, honk-honk, honk-honk-honk. This morning the honking continued in front of my house, followed by the call of the guard. Now, I have to admit, I ignored him for a little bit cuz I was hoping he would go away. (It's just that I look really crappy in the morning, and I still had my glasses on, and they're broken so they just barely stay on my face and I have to hold my head a certain, slightly unnatural, way to keep them from falling off. And, I have a huge zit on my forehead. At least I think it's a zit. It could be a fetal twin emerging butt first. Or a tumor. But my point is, it's scary. And also, I always fall asleep in a bizarre arrangement of clothes consisting of whatever shirt I wore that day, plus whatever bottoms that aren't jeans the I can find in the dark, plus whatever long sleeve cotton thingy I can manage to slink into while I'm half asleep. The result is...clownish. And scary.)
So when I finally go out there - barefoot, which is apparently a big no-no here - he shows me that during the night someone has come and broken into our car. The back window is out. The doors are unlocked. The stereo is gone. My whole day is ruined. But, you wanna know what the best part is? It's not our car! It's our friends car. The car we have been blessed and privileged to borrow while our own car is in the shop (where it's been for 3 weeks!). But wait - There's more! They didn't just break the window and steal the stereo - they also stole the fancy, expensive, and hard to find roof rack right off the top of the car!
Do you ever have one of those days where it seems like everything you touch turns to a steaming pile of dookie. Welcome to my whole life.
Instead of slowly enjoying a cup of coffee while preparing to go to bible study this morning, I put on my big rubber boots (they really complemented the way-too-big pink striped pj bottoms with long black tank and aqua and beige tee) then I went out in the back yard and shoveled dog poo while I cried. It just felt right.
Now I'm tired.. and discouraged.. and homesick.. and really really pissed.
The only good thing about this is that, I'm not gonna lie, I look really sexy when I'm angry. I mean it, I can't help it. I just really know how to rock the "you better back up off or I'm gonna stab you in the ankle" look. Poor Steve can't even think straight when I look like this, so he has to keep himself completely away. So there's that.
Otherwise, this pretty much just sucks on top of sucks. And just when everything was going so well...*sigh*