Today is sucking.
In case you don't really believe that it is, indeed, the little things, believe it now.
It IS the little things . . . they can add up to a beautiful thing or they can form an angry hoard of mosquitos that sting you in the tenders, all at the same time.
It started with Little and a fever. Great timing, since he was already going to the doctor this morning for blood work. Perfect. As if that wasn't stressing me out all on its own. Polyuria. Polydipsia. You know where I'm going with our family history and those two things. I was holding my breath.
Anyway, getting kids out the door and off to school today was a small act of God . . . I moved mountains to get them there on time. I hate those kind of mornings.
Then Little to the doctor.
But work got in the way as I was walking out the door. Nothing major. I know I bitch about work. I have what most folks would consider THE perfect job. But it doesn't light my fire and most days I feel exhausted and drained instead of rewarded and invigorated. It's not what I wanted. Scratch that. It's not what I want. Past tense. Current tense. Both. Together.
Little presented at the doctor's office for a urine test and blood screen. Ah, with a fever of 102.4. Awesome. A strep screen and two sick visits later, we left with the all too familiar, "it's a virus" diagnosis. I knew that. I wouldn't have even taken him to the doctor today except that he was already scheduled to be seen. But, that bought him a stay-home-with-mom-all-day ticket. Which was lovely.
I had a series of emotional moments revolving (a) work, (b) my mom and work (c) my mom, (d) work again, (e) some beef jerky that came through the washer, out of the pocket of my dad's Mr. Roger's sweater, (f) generally being overwhelmed and grumpy and (g) being just flat out lonely.
Though it seemed like a good idea to plant myself on the couch with Little and watch the boob-tube all afternoon, MOTH arrived home early and I snuck off to the gym. Two and a half miles on the treadmill left me feeling . . . . . not as great as I had hoped. Still, I'm proud of myself for making the choice to go. It would have been much easier to pop a bag of Orville Extra Butter and be a fat-ass with my feverish son. These are the days when I need the gym most . . . when I don't want to go at all.
My favorite jeans are missing. What the hell? How does a pair of jeans that is in every-other-day use go missing? All out gone. I tore apart closets today in search of my favorite contrast stitched Tenleys. I can't find them. And that pisses me off. I made heaps of clothes in frustration. I created a much bigger mess to clean up. I pisses me off that I got pissed off enough to create more work for myself. How dumb was that?
I even tore into Big's closet. Sometimes, when MOTH thinks he's helping, he tries to do some laundry. These are the times when white things suddenly look camo-tie-dyed and all of my stuff ends up in Big's closet. Don't get me wrong, I'll take the compliment that my jeans look like her jeans (they don't if you have an eye for it . . there is a big difference between mom-size jeans and a cute little juniors size 1), still . . . I thought MAYBE they'd be hiding in her closet. Not so much. I'm secretly horrified that they may have snuck into one of those eight Lupus Association donation bags that were in front of my house yesterday. Damn, damn, damn. Husbands and laundry. I could post a whole post on husbands and laundry. I know some guys are super adept at laundry. MOTH? Not so much. He could hold his own, if death and dismemberment were on the table, but I have a feeling he'd just get to the bottom of the barrel and buy new duds. Sometimes I think he secretly sabotages his laundry performance so that I will throw my hands up and say, "Holy, cow, I've got this . . . go find something else to screw up!!" This, as he slinks toward the couch with a "ha, ha, ha", that-worked-like-a-charm grin on his face.
As of right now, I have upped the previously offered $5 reward to anyone who finds my missing jeans to $10.
In the midst of the day, I had to buy a new thermometer. We have four in the house but none of them work either. I took my temperature with one and am proud to announce that I'm functioning well despite my hypothermic temperature. New batteries for old thermometers are $7 a pop. The heck with that. But the new thermometer I bought is also a dud. Awesome. Had to go back to Walgreens to return that. Only things are never just a simple exchange. It needs some magical tag and to be processed like a return. Then I have to re-purchase. Sheesh. All this when I could touch a cheek to a forehead and announce, "It's 101 . . here, have some Motrin."
Little, despite feeling like crap warmed over, attended his Tae Kwon Do awards ceremony tonight. He earned his yellow belt and three stars for academic performance. Yea. Go Little.
Okay, I have a few more things that are stuck in my craw, but it's 8:20 and I'm tired. I've got a ton left to do tonight, so I'll form a better thought out iRant later. Plus, I need to think about something other than my missing jeans, fevers & the aforementioned list of little things that have me stressed out and hacked off.