Didn’t Get The Memo

 

It is my distinct impression there may have been a secret meeting last night while I was slumbering.  In said meeting, participants decided that Thursday, January 26, 2012 everyone would band together and annoy the living fuck out of me.

True.

Story.

This morning, I woke up to the aftermath of a pee pee accident—or so we thought.  We never really determined exactly what happened.  Pajamas were wet.  Bed was dry.  Shower was needed.  Incident woke up my other little one, and HERE. WE. GO.

While dressing Bukka, Fat Sucker became FURIOUS because his brother now has a head start on getting ready for the day.  You did not misread that.  Everything in my house has become a competition.  I’m assuming it’s a boy thing.  I’m also assuming I will eventually lose my goddamn mind during one of these competitions.  So Pajama-wetter totally starts talking “I’m gonna be dressed first” smack to his brother, who is wailing with great sorrow as though someone’s died.  I, of course, had to bring Pajama-wetter down several pegs with a, “You pissed on yourself.  I would stop bragging.” 

Both kids were irate, as though they pay the mortgage and therein have a voice in the goings on of our household.  Let’s see who can get a damn job the fastest.  How bout that?  The boys were trying to push, hit, and kick every time I wasn’t looking.  Why would I not be looking?  Oh.  I’m so glad you asked.  The kitchen, which I left in a somewhat tidy state upon retiring for the evening, was DESTROYED.  Apparently (completely unbeknownst to me) I am the only member of The Circus qualified to perform a load completion and start of the dishwasher.  I am also the only dish rinser and counter wipe-offer.  Silly me.  I thought the last person to eat the delicious Italian Tortellini Soup (click link for recipe)  would be somewhat responsible for the mess that followed, but we all know what happens when we assume.  Anyway.  Good thing he’s hot, right? Because the living room also looked like an F5 tornado had went right through it.

The sullen attitudes continued through our morning ritual.  My oldest son, Chubba, left to escape the madness catch the school bus.  This threw Fat Sucker into a deep mourning and sobbing spectacle as if Chubba, age 11, was leaving for war.  I couldn’t even reason with the situation (same routine for 11 years—there are no surprises), so I did what any sane person would do, I went batshit crazy, which settled everyone the hell down immediately. 

Parenting Tip 786:  Make no mistake, I’m a firm believer kids have to think you’re a little crazy.  People with 1-2 kids (especially if they’re girls), I don’t even want to hear your thoughts on this.  Leave that little Parenting Book on your own nightstand.  In my house, these boys outnumber me 3 to 1 on any given day of the week.  At some point, they will all three be faster, stronger, and bigger than me.  Think of basketball 3 on 1.  Yeah.  I can’t be everywhere (defensively) at once, so intimidation (yelling AIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRBALLLLLLLLL) is key.  

While getting ready, I applied far too much Moroccan hair oil.  It’s as though BP is maintaining my strands today. 

Looking forward to the calmness of work, I entered the premise with such promise. Cue the Negative Nancy Buzzer.  NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.  And no. 

I have a coworker that is just about the most irresponsible, lack of accountability, liar liar pants on fire, thinks he’s smarter than everyone else----- dummy I’ve ever dealt with in my life.  I’m 34 yrs old so I’ve dealt with some doozies.  Let’s be clear, I could care less about another person’s mess, but when your mess continually falls into my lap, Houston--- we have a fucking problem.  Could you find this number for him?  Can you look up this?  Can you fill out this?  Do you know how I do this?  Could you do this for me?  Can you mail this for me because I don’t have time?  Time?  Time?  Follow me around for a day.  A day.  I’ll show you a lack of hours in the day.  Blah.  Blah.  Fucking blah.  These are all personal tasks, not pertaining to work at all.  I put my foot down ages ago, but shit still keeps tumbling in my direction via my boss (dad).  Might I mention this dude is over 40 yrs old.  <------ This is what happens when people don’t take accountability for anything.  This is what happens when your tickets, warrants, convictions, child support, garnishments, homelessness, etc… are always someone else’s fault.  A 40 yr old annoyance.

I grow weary of having these conversations. 

Moving on. 

My day then moved into “take care of old folks” day. Old folks= parents.  I’ve mentioned before, my mom has Meniere’s Disease and is having a horrible episode today. Extreme vertigo, nausea, and complete hearing loss.  My dad, who currently has only one good ear, is experiencing blockage in that ear.  He can’t hear shit.  He’s never seen his new Primary Care Physician.  He’s been talking to himself all day.  I’m not sure what’s going on with that.  I don’t know if he considers it thinking aloud if he can’t hear it.  Who knows?

Point is, I’m knee deep in Dramamine and New Patient Pre-Appointment Paperwork.  Oh, and it’s really loud trying to communicate with them both.  CAN YOU HEAR ME, DAD?  I SAID MOM’S IS FINALLY SLEEPING.  NO NOT DRIVING.  SLEEEEEEPPPPPIIIIIIIING.  SHE’S SLEEPING.  I SAID SHE’S SLEEPING.  SLEEPING.  Nevermind.

Please send me positive thoughts of tolerance and patience today.