D-to-the-feated

CVS has been texting me like a desperate ex for days: "Come get your prescription, Emil Gros. Come on!"

So I schlepped over there today and you'll be shocked to know that the prescription was not to be found. Seems it had been filled at another location. Swell. I love you, CVS, said no one ever.

***

I went to the market to get yet more food for carnivorous, apparently-always-starving children. I drove around the garage for 8 minutes, could not find a parking spot, and so attempted to leave before I was late to pick the boys up from camp. 

"That'll be $3."

"Um, no. I didn't even park."

"But you were here for more than 7 minutes."

"Because I was looking for a spot and I didn't find one and now I have to leave so I'm not late."

"$3"

"NO!"

"Ok."

***

A side table arrives, and I unpack it carefully. Atop the glass shelf is etched "TEMPERED GLASS." This idiotic label cannot be removed, and so when you place the shelf atop the table, you are reminded that your glass is TEMPERED each and every time you look at it. I packed it back up, called Customer Service, and UPS is picking this item up tomorrow.

I have no further words on this subject.

***

Apparently, the children drank Arse Juice at camp today and came home to act like hooligans. They spent half the afternoon naked, whooping and yelling about their Rebellion. 

I found clothes hanging from my closet light, 97 stuffed animals thrown over the stair balcony, Legos everywhere, and this. 

Who would dare do that to my boyfriend? 

Seriously, people, I was not amused this evening. I took away iPads and dessert, and later, Jack yelled that I was "SO unfair, and just because I've been a jerk does not mean that I shouldn't get to listen to my book on tape."

"Well, young man, indeed it means exactly that."

But he wore my shit down, y'all. Just grated at me until I was nothing more than a thin rind sitting behind a snowy pile of shredded Parmesan. And I had no more fucks left to give. And so I lost this one and hardly care. #sotired #Dfeated

***

And then there's this gem from the Republican National Confucktion in Cleveland. Mother of...

REALLY? No other colors available for elevator naming?

A hard day

Oh, friends. Some days are just so hard. 

I awoke before 5 this morning, nudged from a deep, assisted sleep by a wet little nose pecking hungrily into my hand. It was Nutmeg, settling in a good deal earlier than usual for our morning snuggle. He curled atop my chest, tucked his head under my chin and his body in the crook of my arm, and started purring like a smooth, strong v6. 

Often, our bed snuggles are times I treasure- quiet and sweet and warm. But it was hard for me to get to sleep last night and I needed more than my loving feline allowed.

Finally, I creaked downstairs to feed him and on my way back up heard Oliver talking some gibberish. I couldn't tell if it was a nightmare or just the early signs of wakefulness, but I peeked in and found him staring straight at me. It was 5:30, and I knew last night's sleep was gone with the wind.

We laid in Ol's cozy little bed for nearly an hour, arms wrapped around one another, whispering and not.

"What are you thinking about, Mama?"

"Oh, I am thinking about the house Daddy and I saw yesterday."

A simple answer for my little boy. What I was really thinking was about how hard it is to house-hunt in the ludicrously expensive/over-priced DC market. Thinking about how much I love our current home and how long it took us to find it. Thinking how on top of one another we feel as the boys grow but do not stop running. Thinking about how sad I'd be to leave this place but also how exciting it would be to do just that. Thinking about how lucky I feel that we can consider doing so.

My stomach churned, gurgling and talking to us.

"Are you hungry, Mama? I am!"

I wasn't. Just nervous. Tired. Scared to admit how very much I was thinking about that house we saw yesterday. How I hope that it will become our new home.

"Let's go make cinnamon toast, ok, Ol?"
"Oh yay, my favorite."

As we descended the stairs, I thought about how my mom would soon wake. And how Dad would drive her to the surgery center for an operation to repair the arthritic growth that has eroded the tendon between her thumb and hand. They have to take another tendon from in her arm and pleat it in her thumb joint. She's been in such pain, but this surgery is supposed to be horrifically painful too. She is fine now, but I was worried. And I'm sorry she's been hurting and will continue to for several months.

I spent the morning thinking about Mom and the house. I tidied and did laundry. I couldn't eat a thing, which is wholly unlike me.

I thought it'd do me good to get out. So I went to the post office to mail a return package and then to the market. I'd been inside for all of four minutes, just enough to grab a bunch of beets and some raspberries, when the manager grasped his walkie-talkie and ordered every customer and employee to evacuate immediately. 

"Leave everything where it is, carts, food, everything and please exit the building immediately. Employees, go to the CVS parking lot next door."

Turns out the market had received a bomb threat. People, please. What is this world coming to? I'm not usually shaken by things like this, and it was well-managed, but seriously. 

To school and then back home where my oldest threw such a tantrum that I just lost it. Lost it. My shoulders shook and the tears came. They needed to, but their moment of entry surprised me, pouring forth before filter or will or "should" could step in. 

It happens sometimes, these breaks. The fissures just can't withstand the pressures pushing against them. Was the bomb threat the proverbial straw? The missed sleep? Worry? The argument? A tornado of emotions about a possible move?

Today was a bit of all those things, I suspect. Bits of dust and particulate matter spinning and spinning, accelerating and bam.