How did I get here?
I was sitting in the toilet with my legs tilted at an uncomfortable angle in front of me. Actually, sitting would be the wrong word to use. I suppose “stuck” would be more appropriate. I had stumbled into the bathroom in the dead of night and hadn’t realized that my husband forgot to put the toilet seat down.
So there I was, my ass dangling precariously close to the toilet water, my legs straight up—I was not amused. And to be honest, I was a little confused. In my half asleep mind I was all, “What just happened? Is my knee supposed to be in front of my face? I don’t recall this being the way I pee.”
It hadn’t been the greatest day.
First, I had decided to try a new recipe because a person can only eat spaghetti and sloppy joes for so long. I hate cooking by the way. It makes me feel cranky and each time I’m in the kitchen, I long for a cook to do it for me. But a cook is just too expensive and thus, I’m stuck preparing the meals. I found a recipe for a whole chicken in the crock pot—which I’m in love with, by the way. The crock pot, not the chicken. Anyhow, the recipe called for rosemary, and I had no idea what it looked like. I mean, I knew what it was—a spice, yes? But where would I find it?
I started pacing up and down aisles at the grocery store for the stuff. I suppose I was looking for a gigantic sign that read: “GET YER ROSEMARY HERE!” But of course I didn’t see such a sign. I stopped in front of all the spices and just stared and stared while my two year old attempted to climb out of the cart. She gets mortally offended if you stand still too long.
“I get out, Mommy,” she said.
“Okay,” I replied distractedly. Rosemary…where is the Rosemary…wasn’t Rosemary the name of Gwenyth Paltrow’s character in that Jack Black movie?
My eyes scanned the various spices. Where was the rosemary? And what does tarragon taste like?
“Bye Mommy,” Natalie called out.
“Bye,” I answered. WHERE WAS THE ROSEMARY??! And shit, there goes my two year old! I scooped up Natalie right when she was about to turn the corner.
“MOMMY! I WALK!” Natalie screeched, trying to kick her way free.
“You can’t. You have to say by me. I have to find the rosemary!” I explained frantically. Thankfully a woman overheard me.
“Are you looking for the rosemary? It’s right here.” She handed over a bottle of green pellets.
I thanked her and gawked at the bottle. “It looks like pine needles,” I blurted out and she laughed.
“I assure you, it doesn’t taste as such,” she told me.
I hope not.
Then I came home and it smelled like a giant cat box because apparently I’m the only one who remembers to change the cat litter. It’s just not fair. Why do I get to deal with all the feces in this house? I mean, okay, I don’t deal with TOM’S FECES—or maybe I do, because when he’s finished making a number two, I find I have to spray a bunch of freshener so our home doesn’t smell like the bog of eternal stench.
Later, as I was cooking dinner, Tommy was practicing his spelling words for the week. I could hear him out in the living room:
“Okay, which is spelled W-H-I—”
“T!” Natalie cut in cheerfully.
“No Natalie! There is no T!” Tommy yelled impatiently. “W-H-I-C—”
“T!” Natalie said again.
“THERE IS NO T! Mommy, I’m not feeling very pleasant right now,” Tommy fumed, stomping into the kitchen.
Pleasant is his latest word. He uses it all the time. For instance, having cereal in the morning is pleasant but stubbing a toe is not. He feels pleasant when he’s taking a bath but he doesn’t find it pleasant when he has to do a bunch of homework. It’s pleasant this and pleasant that. Pleasant, pleasant, pleasant.
“I’m sorry,” I said, stirring the vegetables that were starting to burn. How does a person burn vegetables? Well, I might have started to flip through the latest US Weekly (Jessica Simpson’s dog was eaten by a coyote—some deep stuff in there..) and I totally forgot I was cooking.
“I want to feel pleasant but I can’t because of Natalie,” Tommy whined.
“Natalie! Stop bugging your brother!” I shouted.
“Okay Mommy,” she replied, lying through her baby teeth.
When we settled down around the table, Natalie sniffed her plate, picked up one pea between her thumb and forefinger, stared at it for a few seconds, popped it in her mouth, rolled it around her tongue, swallowed and went, “All done!”
“Darling, you have to take a few more bites,” I said gently. You have to speak to her softly about food, otherwise she gets offended that you’re trying to get her to eat.
“No thanks,” Natalie said, sliding off her chair.
I never know what to do in this situation. Do I let her starve? Or do I try to make her eat? All the experts say you’re never supposed to force a kid to eat because then they’ll be obese or something like that.
Oh, I forgot to mention that in between all of this, I also went to find the YMCA where Tommy’s swim lessons will be held. I knew it was downtown but I had no idea where. So I sort of traveled around, searching, and then I spotted it but didn’t know how to get to it and I nearly died when I almost turned down a one way road.
One way roads are the bane of my existence. I hate them. HATE THEM.
So by the time we parked and made our way inside to inquire about the swim lessons, I was shaking slightly and the woman behind the counter gave me a startled look because I probably was pale from fear. I mean, I’m pale to begin with but I imagine I was extra EXTRA pale at that moment.
“We nearly died!” Tommy said cheerfully.
Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Oh my!”
I waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Not really. We just….man, there are a lot of one way roads downtown.”
The woman looked sympathetic. And then she told me that I couldn’t even register Tommy until October 20th for the swim lessons so Tommy went, “What? I don’t feel pleasant about this!”
So yes. It had been a long day. And now I was in stuck in the middle of the toilet that had been cleaned last week so God knows how much bacteria was now floating around on my backside. Yuck. I managed to work my way free and then I washed my hands and went back into bed—but then I realized I never got to pee, because I was attacked by the toilet—so I had to get back out of bed.
And as I sat there doing my business, I thought longingly, I need a vacation.
Or a stiff drink.