Someone Else's Wrong Side Of The Bed

This has not been my day, at all.

Not my day. It must be somebody else's.

It must be someone else who woke up too late to shower, and is still wearing half of her pajamas. At least she put jeans on, but they're the jeans with a slowly fraying hole in the crotch, so does that really count as clothes? She managed to remember deodorant too, but that was only an hour ago, so did it even make a difference? Poor girl. She should be showering instead of blogging, but her priorities are all wonky.

It's also someone else who's got a feverish daughter on one side and a bored toddler on the other, making for complete frustration in the middle. They need to get out of the house for fresh air and a change of scenery, but the fevered one wouldn't appreciate that, so they stay. They've watched too much tv already today, and still have the entire afternoon ahead of them.

Someone else decided the morning spent at home would be the perfect time to pack away the growing toddler's too-small clothes. The toddler tossed folded stacks of clothing this way and that while her mother searched for a storage box with any space left inside. She didn't find any, so she decided it would be perfectly alright to rearrange the clothing in all the other storage boxes to make room. A grand mess ensued. Mountains of clothing could only be dispatched to their appropriate boxes after the sizes were re-sorted (because that part had been haphazardly done before, so it was all crazy now). This took way too much of someone else's time.

It was someone else's toddler who discovered a forbidden box of markers and colored one square foot of wooden kitchen tabletop. She couldn't have used the innocent Crayolas which are highly washable -- no. Instead, she used the crappy, cheap kind which came with a poster or something. A no-name brand that was highly UNwashable. And she did it while her mom was up to her waist in baby-clothes-sorting.

It had to have been someone else who scrubbed the marker-ings until her triceps burned, while the toddler sat screaming in time-out. MY day surely hasn't included an un-fixable tabletop. MY day surely didn't see that box of crappy markers thrown in the trash.

Someone else's toddler threw every last piece of bedding out of her crib, instead of quickly falling asleep at naptime.

Someone else's meat for dinner is still frozen solid.

Someone else's husband has a meeting that will take him away during bath and bedtime.

Hopefully, someone else will perk up and smile a few times in the coming hours. Her grumpiness is only perpetuating more grumpiness.

Good thing that someone isn't me, because I can't stand being told to snap out of my grumpiness. Good thing my day isn't like that.

It's not my day at all.