Yeah, I know you don’t get the full effect of that, but that’s how the day started out for me. That’s not completely unusual–the noisy dogs, the screaming baby, the sound of that stupid alarm clock MAKING MY EARS BLEED. For some reason, Tuesdays, for me, are so much harder to handle than Mondays are.
I hardly got a wink of sleep last night–which is not so bad in itself, but lying wide awake next to my peacefully snoozing husband just enrages me. How is it possible that he doesn’t hear the scratching, the biting, the heavy breathing of the dogs? Does he really sleep right on through their hideous farting, or is he ignoring it, fake-sleeping and hoping that I will be the one to get up and take them outside so they won’t take a gigantic crap at the end of our bed? Is he taking some kind of magic pill that knocks him out promptly at 9:00 p.m.? And if he is, where is he hiding it, and why isn’t he sharing? Freakin’ jerk.
Mia’s been battling some vicious allergies the last couple days–making for some real heavy-duty tantrums. Yesterday she wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t take ANY medicine. I tried everything. I had so many seemingly good tricks up my sleeve I should write them all down and have it published in a book entitled "How to Secretly Drug Your Toddler"–but she saw right through each and every last scheme. I even went so far as to try each trick 3 times over, with a different flavor medicine each time. Finally, I resorted to slipping a tiny amount of dye-free benadryl into a bedtime bottle–and in her sleepy state she can’t resist a bottle. YES! (Score: Mia 500, Mom 1)
I’m going through a spicy phase–I’ve got a hankering for hot sauce ever since I came back from Texas, though being there is not what brought it on exactly. My father-in-law, the same man who turned me onto sugar and coffee, has gotten me started on a Tabasco-kick–and now I put it on EVERYTHING–just like he does. The man won’t go anywhere without a little bottle of the good stuff, and I swear he whips it right out of his sleeve at every meal. I used to make fun of him for this, but now I find myself JONESIN’ for hot sauce, even when I’m eating mashed potatoes, or pasta. Or a McDonald’s cheeseburger, like I ate Sunday…I would’ve asked for some then, but he wasn’t packing. Unless he was lying…hmmm. (Note to self: buy own travel-size jug of hot sauce.)