It was not a good start to the day. I seemed to have changed personalities overnight, to morph into a horrible shrew. It started last night when I was trying to sleep and my boa constrictor-like varicose veins became inflamed and painful. I tossed and turned and wondered WHY my husband could possibly sleep so soundly when his beloved wife was in PAIN and WHY didn’t he wake up and comfort me, dammit? This in spite of the fact that he physically cannot wake me up with his own concerns – a bedside coughing fit by him will allow me to sleep soundly, a throat clearing by one of the boys in a different room will have me flying to help them. BUT THAT’S DIFFERENT.
Anyway, I smartly figured out to get out of bed and get myself some nice nighttime aspirin, but by that time it was past eleven, and that may sound reasonable to normal people, to me it’s like four in the morning. Then I couldn’t sleep because I had such important thoughts as “Is it customary to give a gift to the soccer coach at the end of the season? Should I go ahead and organize that? Is Barkley old enough for Milk Bones?” and so forth until my body finally called my brain an idiot and I fell asleep.
When the alarm went off at five I actually decided not to go to the studio but sleep instead. Big mistake. Because when Jake climbed into bed with me at 6:10, he was like “Is it a moon day, Mom? Why are you here? Let’s go have Mini-Wheats!” Which was cute and all, and he totally has my number on the Mini-Wheats thing, but a) my husband was getting up and could have fielded these questions, b) I was still tired, and c) I like to have a little time to myself first thing in the morning and I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN UP WITH THE ALARM. That’s when I morphed into an incredibly irritable version of myself, not at all helped by the fact that my “ladies’ holiday” has not yet been “taken”, as it were, and I’m apparently back to my whacked-out 45 day cycle with insane mood swings. I know. My husband is a lucky guy.
I tried to turn things around by making chocolate chip cookies, but ended up being completely irritated with Jake’s attempts at helping, by rolling the dough into long sausages. “But why can’t they be sausage cookies?” he asked. Because, you imaginative child, I must crush you and your spirit in my quest to make perfectly round cookies, THAT’S WHY.
However, they had preschool this afternoon and I went for my bikini wax. And this is important: if you are bloated, pre-“ladies’ holidays”, and crabby, a bikini wax may not be the ticket for you. I’m going to leave it at that.