Shoot Me Now


This was my day:
I woke up with a headache so nasty that taking my caffeine-filled excedrin didn’t even touch it. I took the kids to school and came home and went back to bed to hopefully sleep it off, which I now realized was a ‘hormone-induced’ headache. I should have also realized that sleep does not make ‘hormone headaches’ go away. Only one thing does. If you’re a woman reading this, you know what I’m talking about. If you’re a man, well…just be thankful you’re a man.
At 1:30, I was the photographer of TWO HUNDRED SIXTY TWO elementary school children for the kids to have as a memento after their performances in next weeks play (one of them being my son hence the photo duty). That’s TWO HUNDRED SIXTY TWO kids ranging from ages 4 to 11, all photographed one by one. The noise level was unfrigginbelievable. Remember that headache?!
5:30, dinner time. I go into the kitchen, open up the cabinets and stare. Hell no, ain’t happenin’.
I walk into the living room and tell the boys that they’re on their own for dinner and to call their father. He can grab something on the way home for all of them. I go to my room to rest for just a bit in hopes the HEADACHE FROM HELL might consider easing up now. No go. My son comes into my room after only 10 minutes to tell me my husband is not answering his cell phone. I then try repeatedly calling him until I hear him pull in the driveway. You can see where this is going, right?
Ambush time. Husband innocently walks in and I proceed to tell him in the most restrained voice I know how, just how tired I am of him not answering his cell phone and what if something were to happen to all of us like getting in a traffic accident or what if the 9.0 magnitude earthquake that I’m just sure is going to hit any day now finally does hit and WE BECOME TRAPPED AND BURIED IN THE RUBBLE AND WE CALL AND HE DOES NOT ANSWER HIS CELL PHONE???!!!!!! As he backs into the now closed front door, hands up in surrender, he ponders this then reminds me that if there really was a 9.o magnitude earthquake that “more than likely there would be no cell service anyway, right?”. If you’re a man reading this, I’m sure you’re nodding your head like, “Duh, that’s right!”. If you’re a woman reading this, you understand that murder at this point would be totally justified.
Dinner from McBarfo’s finally done, my oldest son asks me to take him to the game store to return a game because he only has seven days to do it and today is the seventh day. At 8:30 p.m. And they close at 9:00. Sure! Why not? It’s not like I have a life or anything to do or have a headache or anything like that. I have to take him because he’ll be out $40. MY $4o. So I take both boys and on the drive there I proceed to tell them that if it weren’t for me being their constant taxicab driver that they’d have nothing and who cares if I’ve been wearing the same pair of jeans all winter instead of buying new ones because all of my money is going into their things? And of course I just had to add salt to that wound by telling them that they have no idea how lucky they are that they always get what they want and how I sacrifice just to make them happy and when will anyone EVER START THINKING ABOUT ME AND WHEN WE GET HOME NOBODY BETTER EVEN THINK ABOUT COMING AND TELLING ME THEIR SORRY AND TO NOT HUG ME EITHER!!!!! So there.
Oh yeah. I went and did it now. Neither child spoke on the way home. To add insult to injury, once we got home and they tried to play their game, it wouldn’t work. They stood in the hall door and quietly told me goodnight and that they were going to bed while I proceeded to watch American Idol and 17 year old David Archuleta sing an amazing rendition of John Lennon’s “Imagine” (I’m not kidding; this kid’s the bomb) while eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream, sobbing like a baby feeling mighty sorry for myself. (Didn’t stop me from eating the ice cream, though). That is until my 10 year old got out of bed and came out to the living room as I blew my nose loudly.
“Mom, don’t worry. Once you’re period is here you’ll be normal again and all will be well”. He then came over and gave me a hug (shows how well he listens to me and am I ever glad he didn’t!) and told me he loved me no matter how psycho I become…and then proeeded to tell me to go wash my face because my ‘ugly cry’ had made my mascara smear all over my face.
Out of the mouth of babes.
What now?, you ask. Well, now I’m going to bed to sleep my psychotic-induced sorrow and hopefully, my ‘hormone fluctuations’ away. On the way I will stop in the boys room and give them a kiss on their sweet little faces and pray that tomorrow all hormones have regulated and all will be well again.
Goodnight everyone.

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