Every once in a while, I have a day that warrants a certain phone call to Spouse. This certain phone call is the one reminding him that he needs a vasectomy.
Yesterday was one of those "You need a vasectomy" phone call days.
It wasn't an unusually hard day. It began with the fight over wearing clothes (as opposed to pissed-in jammies), brushing the teeth (as opposed to not), combing the hair (as opposed to not) and making the bed (as opposed to not).
Then there was the fight over practicing the piano. Which begins with scrunched eyebrows, stomping feet and mumbles that include the word "hate." Due to mumbles and complaining, the actual practice session takes 2 point 5 times longer than the necessary half hour.
All of the above includes relentless reminders and foam-at-the-mouth nagging. Have you done...? What are you working on...? Did you wash your hands...? Put your dishes away... What do you need to be doing....? Leave the dog alone and do your chores... Put your toys down... No friends until your work is done. Nag. Nag. Nag.
Finally, the work was done and the friends came. It was all fun and games until the arrival of the bickering and fighting, cookie crumbs, spilled milk, otter pops on the car, otter pops on the kitchen floor, sticky everywhere and an empty can of whipped cream. This was more than poor little rabid me could handle. "Okay, time for everyone to go home," I said.
I was relieved. Until we discovered that Yahoo #3 (also known as the Pound Hound), had chewed through poor T's shoes (T is Yahoo #1's friend) - in the which I barked at Yahoo #1 for not taking care of his friends' belongings. (You should note that the beloved Pound Hound has munched many a shoe, watch, pillow and pinewood derby car - it's business as usual to put things out of the Yahoo #3's reach.)
Yahoo #1 escaped to safe ground in extreme agony. I found him sobbing uncontrollably about how he "always messes things up."
I guess I can kiss that Mother-of-the-Year nomination good bye. The kids don't do what I ask and I don't discipline well. The Yahoos are unhappy and suffer from low self esteem.
After 6 more hours of the above, I was finally in bed. And as I sat there stewing over my dreadfully "bad" day, I thought "You know, tender Rabid, there are many out there who are having worse 'bad' days than you."
For example, I know of someone who had a funeral for his wife. Another friend has a broken femur and needs surgery. And as bad as their days might be, I'm sure somebody, somewhere is having yet a worse day than they are.
Makes me wonder what the absolute worse day is.
Then I think about how it's all relative and then I pretend to understand Einstein's Theory of Relativity and my mind turns to mush and I feel relief over how much better today is.