No one died.
My cat didn't get run over. No one lost a job. No arms were broken.
I'm not asking for anyone to feel sorry for me. I'm not gonna cry myself to sleep in my big pillow tonight.
I'm just sayin',
that apparently I can't measure, 'cause I've got three incorrect cuts of trim for that darn room I'm workin on, plus that I didn't buy enough trim anyway, and I'm pretty discouraged.
That I had a poop stain on the carpet to clean up,
the dishwasher ain't workin' right,
the sink in the bathroom leaks,
peanut butter in the car,
and ground-in Play Doh in front of the couch,
ON the couch,
BEHIND the couch,
orchestrated NOT by the 2 year old mind you, but these two yokels.
(can't I have one room for myself that's kept clean? just one?)
It's not that there's massive amounts of laundry waiting for me, or Uno cards spread everywhere.
It wasn't so much that John can't pronounce "truck" without leaving out the "r" and saying an "f" in place of the "t" every.where.we.go., or that I caught the Jacester drinking dill pickle juice out of the jar,
or that John carried this around yelling "Toothbrush! Toothbrush!" and only heaven knows where it's been.
It's definitely not that my 6 year old's smile is like this,
because I love it (as all mom's do).
It's about this:
which is cute- but see the pin hanging out of it?
Can you ask him what posessed him to take that pin, walk up behind me, wait for me to bend down to trade loads of laundry from the washer to the dryer, and shove that pin right into my arse cheek?
I mean, that type of thing is funny on Tom & Jerry; but right into my rear? I didn't ask him because I was too busy man-yelling.
Now again, it's all in a mother's day's work, I know. But there's 2 pounds of chocolate bridge mix in the pantry. And I feel like I earned a 1/2 a pound. At least.
I'm just sayin'.