One of those days
in which, I feel I must be going mad. It’s been busy around here, the Colonel overloaded. The kind of overload to agree to for the money, oh, we’ll pay of this, we’ll get that, and then you find yourself wrung out and thinking you were stupid. Colonel being busy, to which I agreed, means Captain Mom is on her own with the privates. Every. hour. of. every. day.
And today, it may mean they meet their maker.
I have. had. it. with them. And they aren’t even being bad. Just constant. Constant noise. Constant needs. Constant desiring nutrition and clean clothing. Today, it’s like nails on a chalkboard. Sandpaper in my eyeball. Just go on and back the car over me now. The Colonel even left the truck. It’s heavier than the MPV. Oughta work out fine.
Upstairs. slam, bang, run run run, thump whack thud. Scream. Hysterical laughing. Door slamming. Nooooooooooooo, doooooonnnnnn’t. That’s miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine! Stop stop stop, I’m telling mooooooommmmmmm, run, laugh, cry, you hit me, did not, you meant to, did not, I wanna try, I wanna try, no I wanna try, no I wanna try. That hurt. I told you. No you did not. Scream scream run run, thud thump whump whack.
Want some more? I’ve got more.
Private 3 decides to bring the fun downstairs. With 2 small kitty figurines.
The scene: Private 3 trying to balance the kitties on the edge of the bar, back feet on, front feet off.
The outcome: Constant dropping, clinking, clunking while I fill out the Title forms for the DMV, for our new car. He tried again to defy the odds of gravity. Over and over and over.
Next scene: Me, calmly telling Private 3, you must stop doing that now, while he holds one tiny plastic kitty on the edge of the counter again, it’s making too much noise.
The outcome: Clunk, clink, chunk as a plastic kitty nose dives to the hardwood floor again. I thump Private 3’s head. Oooowwwwwwww, why did you dooooooo thaaaaaaaaat? You did it AGAIN. AGAIN. I just said not to do that! What did I say, huh, tell me, what did I just say?
His reply: Ooooh, I thought you meant the other kitty. This one has a purple bow.
Today, just might be the end of me. THE END OF ME. Send my husband covered dishes after the memorial. He really doesn’t know how to cook.
Your Private 3 reminds me of my DS8. When he was just four years old, barely had his birthday been over, and he had gotten his precious little trumpet that he was so determined to sleep with that night. Ok, fine, alright, but don’t keep your sisters up. I promise was his reply. After a few trips to the room to remind him not to blow it again I said, “If you blow that horn one more time I’m going to take it away for a few days.” “Ok, yes, Ma’am. I won’t.” Not one half minute later I hear Toot! Toot! Toot! I marched myself to his room and took the horn away. Crying and whining began, “but I didn’t blow it one more time; I blew it three more times.” UGH! Such a smartypants - he still didn’t get to sleep with it.
Comment by SmockLady — May 23, 2006 @ 1:01 pm
Oh, I hear you.
I’m sooo sick today, but I STILL had to take Samster to the dentist and wait THREE friggin’ hours. And, of course, he’s feeling awful, so he needs to be babied.
Not to mention, KZam (hubby) can’t do anything for himself, like shop for groceries or fix dinner… he did do that BEFORE we met, right?
AAARRGGHHH! I hate being sick and having to take care of everyone else!
So, I HEAR YOU.
Comment by naydog — May 23, 2006 @ 6:50 pm
It must have been the moon today. Seriously. Mine whined and cried about ev-er-y-thing.
Remind me to update my blogroll with this URL, wouldja? Then come over and help me clean my grout.
Comment by Belinda — May 24, 2006 @ 3:30 am
Here’s to a better day today! Wanna send the kids over to my house? I’ll turn ‘em lose outside!
Comment by Wren — May 24, 2006 @ 9:09 am