Do it over.

This week has been about as awesome as a girl with a giant ring in her nose like a bull.

Hence to say, not awesome at all. In fact, it was just like that poser girl in the fact that it really had good intentions of being awesome, but took a left turn on Monday into awful.

I was still recovering my usual flow after my horrific getting-out-of-bed neck injury. I had decided to fake it. I will just fake wellness until I feel it. But it didn't really pan out that way. It was more "fake it until 2 pm and then take a hydrocodone".

I am a little needy when it comes to medicine. I require a big meal, a large glass of water, and some pleasant company in order to consume a narcotic. If I don't follow my own rules, I'll end up crying on the floor and blasting Justin Bieber from my office computer.

Baby....baby....baby

Even with all these extremely thought-out and medically necessary precautions, my stomach's feelings got hurt by the narcotics and made me sad girl, bowel speaking, for the whole week.

Valentine's day was Tuesday. I started it by making nutella brownies shaped like hearts. They tasted like a sack of poopholes so I was down for the count. Then I used my mothering of the year apron and made the kids heart-shaped pancakes. Which I subsequently then had to cut up for them.

I would make it up that night. I had done my hair real pretty like, and I was going to scrub the house and cook husband with one T a meal so delicious that he would struggle to even understand it.

I grew out my hair just for relations on Valentines Day

We walk into the local butcher. I can't tell you how fun it is to write that; It makes me feel like I live somewhere cultured and not suburban Oklahoma.

Adrian has never been to a butcher before and as we walked in he said "This place smells like pigs". I hugged him because he was cute and right.

I ordered the best filets they had and ordered some side items that I was confident I could pass off as impressively homemade.

But then my stomach was still pouting about being narcoticed and informed me if I touched that steak with my mouth, stomach, or other digestive component, that I would immediately be plummeted into a deep state of bloatedness. One so bad that I should be worried people would throw me emergency baby showers the next day, thinking I was 8.79 months prego.

I explained this to husband and he understood. He didn't care about Valentine's day any more than I give fucks about the day of the draft. Or something. Whatever that means. I assured I would cook the steaks the next day once my tummy wasn't on strike with my large intestine.

When we got home, Adrian was so excited that he got some mail! It was from the Brace Place. I figured someone told them his teeth were coming in a little funkified and this was a phamplet about the fun and sexiness of braces.

But it was a bill for 88 dollars. Addressed to a 7 year old who thought he was getting something neon and fun. He decided to take a do over and write them back.

Once that matter was efficiently handled, I put my children to bed, alone. Mat has been working late every single day this week. On top of a hurt neck, stomach being emotionally unstable, now our 7 year old is in severe financial turmoil.

Wednesday wasn't much better. One of my coworkers gave me a compliment that started with "You look nice today!" and was finished with"......you're looking like Madonna"




Madonna with a smile

 I wasn't feeling particularly jolly. I had stopped at the grocery store with two kids and that will make any decent person a psychotic wreck with Daddy issues. I decided to back my car into the garage so I could get the groceries out easily since it was raining.

But then I got the car stuck. Having broken 2 sideview mirrors last year. I decided to not move forward or backward and wait til husband, who was working late OF COURSE, to get home.



So I had to move all our stuff into the house, because everyone thinks it's cute and fashionable to constantly steal our shit!



Mat immediately did the verbal eye roll and said he never wants to hear a sentence out of my mouth that starts with " So i decided to try backing my car into the garage."

Keep reading....Thursday and Friday really win at winning.

Thursday morning I wake up and start getting Adrian ready so he can look big pimpin in his music performance that morning. After he gets out of the shower, I emo his hair enough that he looks misunderstood yes respectful. This is the moment he informs me he needs a brown shirt.

No problem, he had two brown shirts.

I can't find either of them.....anywhere. He needs to leave for the bus in twenty minutes. I ransack his closet, dresser, bags laid out for goodwill....nothing. Nothing that can even be construed as a brown shirt.

I think outside the box and decide to bleach a black sweater, just a lil. I soak it in the sink for 10 minutes and it gets a rich brown color. I throw it in the dryer with a smell good towel and a prayer. We wait 20 minutes. He's now missed the bus and I am going to have to take him to school. No problem, I'm still in control. This girl be be poppin all over her kitchen, making lunches like it's her job!

2 dryer cycles later, the bleach-reeking shirt is not dry. School started 5 minutes ago and Ellis will now be late for her preschool.

"Let's go take Ellis, then we'll swing back by and it'll be dry and we can throw it on and make it to your program in time!"

Ellis is at school, I went 231 MPH the last mile back to our neighborhood and tore into our house to find the black with smelly brown spots shirt still completely dripping wet.

Here's a burnt orange sweater, Adrian. Make the best of it.

"It's 9:23, we're already late"

"NO WE'RE NOT, CHILD OF THE CORN! PUT ON YOUR ORANGE SHIRT AND PRETEND IT'S BROWN OR ELSE YOU'LL NEVER EAT AGAIN"

I dropped him off at the door and told him to run to the stage. After I parked and walked in, I saw someone was rushing him to backstage, but the show had already started.

I noticed my ex husband's very perfect and early parents in the back and made my way back to them, foregoing any sort of greeting and immediately going into full-blown excuses.

"Wow it's been a morning. I know. He's wearing orange. I feel horrible. I tried to bleach a black shirt because I couldn't find a brown shirt and now it smells and looks a catcher's mitt. Then I thought the program started at 9:30. oops wrong! I'm sorry. You guys are here. That's great! We just have been-

"You know you already missed his dance part. They were first. So we missed it and he missed it."

Me:immediately start crying and cursing the day my mother had me.

I hugged him on his way back to his room and just whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry".

"Sorry for what? huh? "

He had no idea he was the only pumpkin in a sea full of firelogs and that he missed his opportunity to be a star.

I managed to talk my ex into going and buying him a brown shirt and attending his afternoon performance. He also recorded it for me, and was incredibly reasonable when I was bawl screaming into the phone "I'VE RUINED OUR CHILD'S LIFE FOR REAL THIS TIME".

We got ice cream and that made things better. Duh.

Then Friday. Ohhhh cute Friday.

I busted my cell phone. My iphone. Worst thing to do, especially when it's my third time in a year. I have GOT to stop having nice things.

Then Ellis's wonderful teacher texts me and says she thinks Ellis may not be feeling well. I noticed she had laid on the floor that morning while I did my hair, but I just brushed it off as her feeling congested and a little down like the rest of us. It'd been a long and tough week.

She texted again, saying she really didn't think she was okay. She was clingy and seemed tired. So I made her a dr appointment for that afternoon just in case she needed medicine going in to the three day weekend.

This is her at the doctor. Mocking me for wasting her time with an appointment when we was clearly......a toddler supermodel angel face.

Do I look like I have the flu?

Cause I do. And a horrible bacterial infection in my throat. Get me 140 dollars in prescriptions. Thanks Mom.

 

I take care of her, take care of a headache husband when he gets home, and sleep HARD last night.

 

Then I get up today and am trying to do some binezz...when I suddenly vomit the delicious fun dip I was partaking in. Fast forward another hour, and I have a blazing fever and can't move my body.

 

Next week will be my do over. And even if it's just 12% better, it MAY be bearable with a husband working normal hours.

 

Ellis didn't do it right. This is what the flu looks like.