Marathon Mom

Part of this is my own fault. I know this. I know I didn't have to-- nor should I have-- stayed up until 4 AM talking music with J. Part of that was because I had a song stuck in my head all day and had to listen to it on repeat to get over it. It wasn't even a whole song, just a bitty part of the song. I don't even know how the song got lodged into my brain like that in the first place. It was the darnedest thing. I haven't even listened to Siouxsie and the Banshees in god knows how long, and now I have "Peek-a-Boo"-- but just the "Peeeeeeeeeeeeek-a-boo!" part-- slowly driving me insane. It's such a catchy song.

So when I woke up-- very late, mind you-- with the kids-- early birds, both of them; don't know where they got that from-- once again fighting, I wasn't a happy camper. But I got up anyway. Lots to do an' all. I make sure the kids are fed. For some reason, on the weekends only, they feel the need to eat two breakfasts each. One when they first get up-- at whatever god forsaken hour that is-- and another later on when the rest of us rise from the dead. I tell them to get dressed and get ready, we need to go, go, go.

An hour later, The Boy decides that because it's around lunchtime, he must eat lunch. I tell him, once again, that he shouldn't eat by the clock, he insists that he's really hungry. I make lunch. I get ready. I wait. And wait. And wait some more. Before we get to the door, The Girl runs to the bathroom. Eventually, about 3 hours later than I'd intended, we set out for the library.

I pick up a book. The kids pick up some books. The Girl got lost a grand total of four times in the library. It's not a large library. But then, she gets lost in the house, too. I worry about the child. This time, The Boy runs to the bathroom.

We have to stop at Macys so I can get this face cream. It's the only thing that keeps my face from seriously freaking out. I cut back on it and got these huge welts on my throat. You know you look bad when you show your mom your welts and she flinches. Yes, this is the woman who had oozing blisters on both hands for several weeks, but she flinches from your welts. You really know it's bad when she offers to buy the cream for you. You need the cream. The cream was bought. The Boy decided to almost get hit by a car and complained when I yanked him to safety. I know there's not enough yoga in the world to help me deal with my family and this is very likely why I have big, nasty welts on my throat.

Next is food shopping. The Girl knocks down a huge display. I manage to reassemble it, all the while cursing under my breath and shooting poisonous looks at The Girl when she offers "helpful" suggestions. My mother yanks The Girl to safety and asks her if she has a death wish. We then ponder if they warn people in advance when we come to the store because she either knocks displays over or drops something and makes a large mess every friggin week. Now she whines that she needs to go to the bathroom again. It's been exactly one hour since she last went and she's had nothing to drink. I feel that familiar throbbing pain in my head. I send The Boy with her so she doesn't get lost. Again. I hate getting paged in the store.

We make it home. The kids are in one piece, but just barely, and my mom and I have matching headaches. But I found Black Jack gum! I'm really excited about that.