I’m starting to sound like my children, whining about a day that hasn’t clocked much past lunchtime.
I’m sitting here eating cheese puffs trying to take in all that the day has dealt me and find relief in whining about it.
Let’s talk about my Monday.
I know. ‘Nuf said. but you know me, I have a LOT to say…
It started when we all had to get up before the Rooster and take Hubby to work.
He’s going out of town and well, I need the car. So, in the darkness, he drives while I try to consume ginormous amounts of caffeine to jumpstart my tired body. It’s not working.
I wake up and have a splitting headache, body aches, and a sore throat. My voice sounds like James Earl Jones. I wince. This is not good. I don’t have time to be sick; I’m in charge.
My husband woke me up with his chronic coughing.
Seriously? It sounded like he was trying to eject a hairball.
I finally rolled over and said, “Gargle already!” Which set him off. He has a short temper and felt the best way to handle my “suggestion” was to yell at me.
I ignore him.
The kiddos and I make it home from the work drop-off without event.
MacKenzie checks her “Magic Box” to see what the Tooth Fairy left and exclaims, “I only got $2.00.”
Good grief? How much HAS she been getting for those little teeth?! I can only wonder. I tell her she has four more loose teeth so not to worry.
Her eyes shoot daggers.
I yawn.
Now we’re at the bus stop waiting.
A Junior High student has taken one of the Elementary School’s Student’s water bottle. It becomes a game of keep away.
I hate bullies.
I start walking towards this evil game, thinking that my presence will be enough to cause the jerk to give the little pipsqueak back the water bottle.
Apparently, I am not that scary because it continues, even with me standing within smacking distance of the creep.
So…I say, in my James Earl Jones voice, “Please don’t do that. Please give him back his water bottle.”
The game comes to an abrupt halt. I know…a woman with a deep man’s voice; that’s gotta scare the bee-jeebies outta ya!
Mr. Bully starts telling me “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Dude…” I say in my newly macho deep voice, “I watched you take it.”
And then….
The Bully’s Dad shows up.
He dons a very red tracksuit. I’m sure he hasn’t been jogging. I try not to laugh. I’ve nicknamed him, “Cherry Red” in my head.
“Wha’ chu want wif my boy?” he asks.
I answer, “I’m just reminding him he’s older and shouldn’t pick on the little guys.” I answer.
Cherry Red walks closer to me.
I hold my ground.
“How ’bout ‘chu back off a my boy?” He threatens as he stands way too far into my comfort zone, towering above me a good six-inches.
“I have no reason to be up on your boy now that he’s given the little guy back the water bottle.”
Then Cherry Red steps closer to me and says, “I kid you not. Me OR my boy can whoop you (butt)” Please note that because I was at the bus stop, I have changed the wording to a more G or PG-rated language, which is far more complicated than what he said to me.
Okay, People. At this point, my head cocks to the side. I’m sure my mouth contorts as I try to make sense of this. My eyebrows furrow together, which means my right eye looks something like that one eye of Popeye’s. I’m trying to determine if Cherry Red is seriously bullying me?
It’s confirmed. I think he is trying.
Sometimes the bully wears sheep’s clothing.
So I take the high road and just shake my head. After all, I’m not in Jr. High anymore and Stone Cold Steve Austin put away his can of Whoop (butt) back in the late 90s.
Thankfully, the bus comes and Li’l Man and I high-tail it out of there! I might have to gather up a few kids to accompany me back to the bus stop to pick up my kiddo, but for now, I’m thankful I’ve survived Cherry Red.
At home now, we’ve cleaned out the car.
My head is throbbing.
My throat hurts.
I’ve eaten nothing but junk today.
I’m freezing cold and refuse to cater to the crap on the counter–let it pile up–today, I just don’t care.
So I ask you, is it too much to ask for today to be over yet?