All Kinds of Grumpy

I'm grumpy today. And I mean ALL KINDS OF GRUMPY. I'm talking the kind of grumpy that would probably make sense for me not to interact with any human being that might even remotely annoy me. Because they will. And they are. Everyone and E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Heck, I'm pissing myself off. While nothing out of the ordinary has happened (same crap, different day), it's the ordinary itself that is getting to me.

To start things off, we were late getting out of bed (this has actually become a bit of a problem for our family in recent times) and it's garbage day. Garbage day requires some effort - gathering everything from each room and putting it out. I flew out of bed to use the potty. The first issue? The toilet paper roll was empty. AND . . . the kleenex box was *RIGHT* there on top of the garbage pail. Yes folks . . . the people in this house are SO lazy at times, that instead of reaching into the cupboard right beside them and getting a new roll, they use kleenex instead. I get that they don't like changing the roll, I mean it IS scientific and all, right? And I'm assuming it's a "Mom" job. But seriously?! At least pull a new roll out. Now, because of the said kleenex usage, when I go to flush it doesn't go down. It bubbled dangerously close to the top of the bowl, threatening to overflow, but crisis WAS averted. Phew! I have NO idea why, but NO ONE seems to know how to flush in the middle of the night, and judging by the amount of paper in that toilet (it was A LOT - trust me - *I* had to pull it OUT of the toilet to flush it), it was used A LOT. As I wash my hands I notice that the toothbrushes and toothpaste from last night are still out on the counter. While it's fantastic that they brush their teeth, is it REALLY that hard to put the lid back on the toothpaste and to put everything back in the drawer? It'd also be nice for each person to rinse their goober out of the sink when they're done. Contrary to their belief, I do NOT enjoy wiping dried and caked on lung butter and stuff from the sink.

As I walk into the kitchen, I'm faced with cups on the counter on TOP of the dishwasher. Why? Because no one wants to open the dishwasher for fear that it needs to be emptied. More than ANYONE, I understand just how sucky that job is - I mean, I pretty much do it 2x everyday. I know for a fact that it needed to be emptied last night, but it would be nice if once in awhile someone else prompted the emptying process. I push the cups aside . . . I need to make lunches. But wait. Where or where are the lunch bags? Oh right . . . IN the school bags because even though I asked for the kids to get them out for me, they didn't. I trip over boots on the way to get the bags - because it's definitely WAY too much for me to ask that they put them NEATLY on the tray. Heck, at this point I'm not asking for them to be neat - just ON the tray in general would be nice. I get the bags, clean them out (and curse at the fact that my kids have yet again wasted food - they hardly eat ANYTHING in their lunches. Don't they know that other kids are starving in Japan? Oh wait . . . that was a song. Sorry - carry on). One small consellation is that today is Pizza Day, so I don't have to figure out a 'main course' for lunch. I quickly fill up juice cups and plop some fruit, veggies and dip in their lunch bags (and yes, I DID use containers). Then I start on the dishwasher. I figured that my other half is capable of dealing with the garbage.

While this is going on, the kids are STILL in bed. We're calling to them, but for whatever reason, they are NOT moving their hiney's out of those beds. Ironically enough, on the weekends when I'd appreciate some sleep, they have NO troubles bounding out of bed at 6:00am. After much coaxing, Imp finally comes plodding into the kitchen, and even though I'm ON the phone (yes, it's not uncommon for my phone to start ringing at 7:00am) and emptying the dishwasher, he announces that he wants a banana smoothie for breakfast. Only thing . . . banana smoothies are Dad's mandate . . . not mine. My other half comes into the room and starts asking the same questions to Imp that I've just asked. I know it shouldn't, but it gets under my skin . . . almost as though he's challenging whether I've done my 'parental' duties for the morning. He gathers up the garbage, which really isn't a huge job, but then he's got it ready to take to the road. Except there is stuff on the counter and fridge that need to go IN the green bin. I guess he doesn't see that bowl of raunchy leftover food?! Or the tray of dried of cupcakes (that Teen made earlier in the week, except she didn't cover so now they're more like weapons than food. The same cupcakes that she PROMISED to clean up after, but I had to rewash the bowl and the ladle she scooped them out with because although she DID wash the insides of them, she doesn't wash the OUTSIDE). *I* go into the fridge and get the 'leftovers' to put them in the bin. At this point, Banshee emerges. She's got about 15 mins to get ready. If you know Banshee, this is basically an impossible feat. My other is determined that she IS going to accomplish this. It's this point where HE gets his grump on. It's one thing for Mommy OR Daddy to be grumpy, but when BOTH of them are grumpy at the same time . . . Well, LOOK OUT!! When asked what she wants for breakfast she puts her thinking cap on and announces "eggs". I convince her that a bowl of healthy Lucky Charms (I know, I know . . . I rarely buy that kind of cereal, but it's for times like this that I reserve it for) is a good idea. I get her set up at the table and carry on with putting the cups from last night and the dirty containers from the lunch bags into the dishwasher. It's then I realize that Banshee is having a good old chin-wag with the daycare kid that arrived earlier. Now she's only got about 7 mins left to get washed up, teeth and hair brushed and dressed. After putting a glass that was sitting on the other counter (compliments of Teen) and wiping the counter and cleaning up the mess created from the smoothie, I go upstairs to be greeted with a HUGE mess in Imp's room. He's ready for the day, but has pulled a bunch of stuff from his cupboard. I don't have the energy to deal with it . . . so I walk away. In our room, I see that my other half has made an attempt to make the bed. While that's great, I appreciate it, the duvet is sideways. A situation that is only going to cause problems tonight with the last of us gets INTO bed. I trip over his dirty clothes on his side of the bed (because you know it's WAY too much to ask that he TOSS the clothes about 2 feet over INTO the baskets), and correct the bed problem (read: I pulled it apart, fixed the pillows, turned the duvet and remade it).

I walk into Banshee and Teen's room. I'm agitated by the clothes on the floor and the general unkemptness. I make Banshee's bed (because there is NO way she's got time to do this). I gather up cups and dishes from here . . . apparently Teen collects them, and then kick the laundry to my room. By now it's time for the kids to head out to the bus stop. My other half it carrying the garbage, recycling and organic bins to the road, so I'm on the kids to get ready. Did you know that asking 3 children to put snow pants, jackets, boots, hats and mitts on is a HUGE deal?! I've got one bellyaching (as usual) about the fact that she HATES snowpants. I've got another one is arms about the fact that he's got a new jacket (he LIKED his green one. You know - the one he BROKE!) AND he wanted to wear his old safety pinned and duct taped snowpants. I quickly convinced (bribed) him to wear the new ones. As he's ready to head out the door he suddenly stops and freaks out. I haven't put tags in his coat and pants to identify that they're his. I tell him I'll do it tonight, but he stands firm. I dig through the junk drawer for some Mabels Labels (a drawer that is a TOTAL mess - compliments of the little hands that rummage through it) and find them. I get one on his jacket easy enough, but of course he needs to take the pants OFF for me to get one on his snowpants. FINALLY we get him ready and out the door. Except he's forgot his bag. I literally toss it out the door at him, and off he runs. The daycare boy is notoriously slow. Like mind shattering slow. We always get him started at putting his stuff on about 10 mins before our kids, and he's STILL the last one ready. Today I had a GREAT feeling that he was going to WIN the race - afterall, I had to remove all Imp's stuff to put the labels on, and Banshee is running SO late. In one miraculous moment, Banshee comes flying into the entryway. She's ready. In warp speed (and admittedly, she amazed and impressed me) she got her stuff on and ready. She grabbed her bag and started to head out. But she too stopped. She hadn't had her morning medications. That's part of Daddy's 'duty' in the morning. But he forgot. So Mommy to the rescue. As I open the cupboard, some stuff that hadn't been put away properly fell out (this is stuff that my other half rummaged through in an attempt to find something to snack on last night). FINALLY I get her out the door, but I've still got a pokey little guy meticulously putting his stuff on. With his mitts on. No matter how many times we suggest that he do the mitts last, he puts them on first. I FINALLY get him ready and ship him out. My other half heads out as well and PEACE has arrived.

As I walk through the kitchen, it's as though a bomb has gone off. The bread products are pulled out, the junk drawer is still open (I knew that one - I just needed a moment to rearrange some things), the toaster is sitting there, the cream cheese left out, and a knife. And the kids lunch bags. I haul ass down the road and put their bags in their school bags. Phew!! Crisis avoided there. I return to the house and clean the kitchen. AGAIN. I walk upstairs to brush my teeth. The bathroom is a disaster zone - toothbrushes, toothpaste and dental floss litter the counter, and a big old wad of hork rests in the bottom of the sink. The toilet has an unflushed poop (I'm assuming it's Banshee - because there is a pile of soap on the counter and the handtowel is drenched). There is also a sopping wet facecloth steadily dripping water all over the floor. This I discovered when I SLIPPED on the said puddle. While I appreciate the fact that they are HANGING the cloth, I guess I neglected to explain the importance of wringing it out. I walk into the girls room to open the blind and to pick up Banshee's jammies, and walk straight into one of Teen's open drawers. I call out to her that she NEEDS to close it. She comes all huffy into the room and says "I was coming back to do it". You know - because people think about that kind of stuff all the time as they're hurriedly getting ready to head out . . . "oh wait . . . I'm in the middle of putting my boots and coat on, but I need to shut the drawer on my dresser". I walk into the bathroom to wipe the water, and notice a bulging plastic bag sitting on the floor in front of the garbage pail. It's full of garbage. I ask Teen about it. In a voice dripping with tone that REALLY puts me on edge, she says "it's garbage". No shit. I KNOW it's garbage, but my question is WHY it's there. When the big bag for delivery is already at the curb. She said that it was from her room and that she was doing what she was asked to do: to put it out for garbage day. Can I fault her then? I mean, it's like living in a hotel - where you just pile the garbage and the cleaning folk come through and whisk it away. Really?! I question why she couldn't walk the extra 20ft and put it IN the bag in the kitchen so it would get to the road when her Dad was doing it. For that she didn't have an answer, and honestly, I don't really care to know the answer. It's similar to how she sweeps the dining room. Or her bedroom. She sweeps it up and tucks it into the corner OUTSIDE of the room she's swept, and then puts the broom in front of the pile so we won't see it. HEAVEN forbid that she actually scoop it up on the dustpan. I found 2 of those piles this morning. One from the dining room. One from her bedroom.

In the meantime, my other half returns from the bus stop to make himself a coffee to take into work. Fine and dandy. I'm in my room tackling Mt. Washmore. Pulling the underwear and socks out of each 'clump' of pants, and the t-shirts from inside of sweaters, and turning them all inside right. My other half parts for the day, and Teen, fearing that I might ask her to do something, quickly follows suit. I walk into the kitchen with a load of laundry and my socks get wet. Obviously when my other half made his coffee, he didn't take his boots off. Nor did he wipe the counter or put the cream away. I make myself a tea and as I put the lid on (I use a travel mug) it overflows (seems fitting for the morning I'm having). I reach for the cloth to give it a wipe. I only succeed in smearing yogurt all over my cup. Someone has had yogurt and obviously spilled it, and wiped it, but neglected to rinse the cloth. I get a new cloth and wipe everything up, then grab a rag for the floor. I put a load of laundry in and life seems to be coming up roses for me. I have a few minutes for myself. Phew!

BUT . . . then I see the calendar. It's the day that the donation truck is coming. I run through the rooms gathering up the little piles on everyone's dresser and put in a bag to put outside. During my travels, I manage to collect a good sized pile of papers for recycling. That reminds me that my shredder needs to be emptied, so I go get that ready. At the very same time a daycare baby arrives, then another. I get sidetracked by playing with them, but about 20mins later I see the papers on the counter so run the recycling (and a poopy diaper) out to the road. While I'm there the creepy fellow that recycle bin dives (I'm not exactly sure of his deal, but he rides around on his bike - winter and all - and collects bottles and cans. I could write a whole 'nother post about that. He. Creeps. Me. Out) comes by. He asked me if I had a bottle of water I could give him. I don't, but he doesn't quit there. He then asks if I can get him a cup of water. I can't do it. He's not 'right', and I've got children floating around. It's the likes of HIM that make me feel the need to lock my vehicles and house doors at ALL times. On the other hand, I don't want to make him mad. So I compromise. I grab a can of coke and give it to him. No thank you, no nothing. He takes the can and rides of. He concerns me SO much, that I choose NOT to leave my shredding out there (because I'm THAT paranoid that he might take it). Then I forget about the bag of shredding. Until the I see the recycling truck pull away. Damn!

I take the kids downstairs to play. Suddenly I smell that terrible smell of a raunchy diaper. I was certain that I was done with poop for the day . . . but, this little princess has created another. Judging by the smell, I KNOW it's a messy one, but I had no idea *JUST* how messy it was. I pick up the offender and we head up to her bin to get her stuff, as I gag and retch the entire way. When I put her down to change her I become aware of the fact that my sleeve is COVERED in poop. And that there is some on the drawstrings of my hood AND on my shoulder. It was a blowout. I guickly remove my hoodie and proceed to change baby. Instantly it becomes clear that before I got to her in the basement, she had been diaper diving (the act of sticking ones hand INTO a poopy diaper and pulling out the contents). I want to vomit. I get her cleaned up, the floor cleaned up, my hands cleaned up, run the diaper and it's hideous contents to the garbage (it is a HUGE blessing that the garbage and organics pickup was late), and then gather up all the toys she's touched (so I can clean and disinfect them).

The rest of the morning seemingly goes OK. I have another daycare kid arrive and we all settle in to finger paint with shaving cream; have a snack, then return to the playroom to well, play. I switch out laundry and find that 1) a kleenex and an eraser have made their way through washer and dryer; and 2) I forgot to push "start" on the washing machine. Grr. I rectify that and move on. Suddenly one of the daycare kids is holding herself. She needs to pee. This little one rarely tells me that she has to go, I spend a great deal of my day reminding her to do so, and when I don't, well, that time I spend cleaning my couches. I fly to the bathroom with her and help her pull her pants down, but she proceeds to pee before I get her on the potty. On the basket of clean laundry that I've JUST pulled out of the dryer. And the mat in front of the laundry machines. I'm not angry at her . . . it's an accident, but none-the-less, I'm frustrated. I sit her on the potty asking her finish, and admittedly grumble about the laundry. She doesn't finish - she was done before I even put her on. I help her pull up her pants and wash her hands, and she demands her sticker for using the potty. I remind her that she in fact did NOT use the potty, nor did she tell me she had to go, so that we reserved stickers for that. And it unravelled from there. A full out tantrum. I'm the queen of tantrums . . . I deal with dozens on ANY given day (particularly from this little one), so it's nothing new. I tell her that when she's finished, she can join us in the playroom to play with us again, and step away from her. She comes back quickly, but only to kick anything she can get her feet on, and to grab a toy from another child. I try to re-direct her, but she falls onto the floor and freaks out again. Again, I remind her that she can come back when she's finished. And basically she hasn't. Since then, she has REFUSED to say ONE single word to ANY of us. I have long ago coined a special nickname for this little one "Grumpapotamus".

Now we're at nap time and quiet time. I hopefully will have time to recharge and regroup, and hopefully the little people will too (although Grumpapotamus doesn't nap . . . but she's perched on the couch armed with books and Treehouse on Demand (Oh how I love Rogers On Demand service). The peed upon load of laundry is IN the washer now and all seems to have quieted/calmed down.

That all said, I'm still ruffled. Still grumpy. Teetering on the edge of insanity. Think it'd be OK for ME to take a nap? Of all the people in this house right now, *I* probably need it the most.

BUT . . . it's not happening. Naps are something that I NEVER get. Oh well . . . thankfully these days are far and few between. Hopefully tomorrow will bring brighter and better things.