Because really....really really...I need one. It's been a day, in what is shaping up to be quite a week. And it's only Tuesday. Monday didn't start too bad. And it was pretty good, actually. Until 8:15am. When sweet little Maggie, who had just held my daughter, Hannah's, hand and walked her to class, came up to my desk and said, "Mrs. Stone, I don't feel (insert puking noise here)." And yeah, pretty much didn't get any better. Complete with fighting kids, peeing dogs, and burning dinner in the crock pot. (I mean, who does that?)
Today, though. Today was supposed to be better. Done with Monday. One day til "hump day." It had to get better. It was supposed to get better. Really it was.
Until 4:30, when I awoke from a nightmare in which I had used my magical powers to turn Hannah into this little embryonic three inch tall creature because she wouldn't stop talking to me, and then when I tried to change her back, she started shrinking. A psychologist would have a field day with that one, I'm sure.
Then, on my way out of the house, breakfast in hand, I couldn't remember whether or not I had unplugged my curling iron. So I deftly jumped up the step to "run" back into the house, missing the step all together and falling on my wrist. Lovely broken blood vessel and "super yummy" egg white and fat free cheese breakfast burrito spilled all over the porch.
Then, my day in first grade. Except my day also included a food fight with ketchup dipped napkins, a squealing surge protector, a full blown temper tantrum complete with leg kicking and floor laying.
So I ran. And felt somewhat better, once it was over. Until we were on the way home, and right at our street, I took the turn a little too sharply and blew out the tire on the SUV.
Not a good thing at the end of a very expensive month, three days before payday.
I made dinner--hamburgers (again-because...hey...three days before payday) I decided to be frugal and resourceful and go ahead and make our dinner for tomorrow too to take to church. I've not grilled too much, or really at all, but I had called Daryl and gotten directions. And was doing pretty well until flames started creeping out of the sides. Yep. Burned. Ten burgers. The dogs wouldn't even eat them (and these dogs eat each other's poop and used sanitary napkins).
Daryl was none too happy to have to come home from working two out of three of his jobs to a flatter than flat tire. And it probably didn't help any that when he opened the trunk to get to the spare, piles of books fell on top of him.
Oh well...I think *fingers crossed* that all may be forgiven now.
And tomorrow....it's gotta be better, right?