The cherry on the Awesome Sundae that was last weekend: we emerged from the haze sometime on Sunday afternoon to realize that our refrigerator is no longer cold. We are not sure when this happened. Our refrigerator probably noticed all the commotion and thought we were dying, so it decided it wouldn't hurt to take a little vacation. If our dead bodies are stinking up the place, no one will notice a little rotting broccoli, right?
What made me the most angry is that all the stuff that went bad was food we got for a steal. Four bags of spinach (I go through it really fast), a giant bag of fresh broccoli, some deli meat--all of it around half regular price. This is truly a blessing, since we only lost about $20 worth of food, but the deal-finder in me is seething. I am bizarrely more annoyed over the loss of my Good Deals than I would be over the loss of something I just bought because we needed it.
There was a second wave to whatever this thing was on Tuesday and Wednesday. Monday was great. I even went to work out, got about five minutes in my weights and realized I was dying and probably needed to cut my arms off. I spent the next two days nearly comatose while my children wished frantically for a new mother. It was just like early *first trimester: extreme need to nap, no appetite, slight nausea, apathy, and despondency. This stomach bug not only gets you body, but it also gets your soul. By yesterday afternoon, I had no will to live.
And then, suddenly, I woke up. I even went to water aerobics and was STARVING afterward. I bought a cheeseburger with mayo on the way home, which was a mistake.
My Body: FOOOOD HOOOOONGRYYYYY FEEEED MEEEEE
Me: CHEESEBURGER! MAYO! DEATH IN FOOD FORM!
My Body: Dude, I meant, like, grapes or something.
Me: NO! CHEESEBURGER.
My Body: For this, I will punish you.
I spent the rest of the evening all miserable and whiny, but it was worth it. So worth it. Just to give you an idea, I have now lost a total of seven pounds. I needed food, and I needed bad food, and I needed filling food. So, I needed a cheeseburger.
And now, let me tell you about today. I woke up peppy and full of energy and happy. I was ready! to! go!
Well, my lovely children took their time eating breakfast, so we didn't get out the door until about an hour later than I wanted to. And then. THEN! I locked my keys in the van. While it was running. I don't even know how that happened. I unlocked the van, put my stuff in the front seat, turned it on, went back into the garage to fish Emmy out of whatever box she was attempting to excavate, and I came back to find the van locked. Rock on.
By the time Jeremy got over with the keys, it was fifteen minutes later, and I was going to have enough time to drop some stuff off and Saver's, and that was it. I was so annoyed. It was going to be a good day! A fun day! A day of getting rid of clutter and getting sunshine and happiness!
So, we finally made it to Saver's--rockstar parking!--when I hear the noise from the backseat. Not just a noise, but the noise. The noise that has been emanating from everyone but The Child since last week.
And yep, sure enough, it was her turn. I have never witnessed something so spectacular in my entire life. She just kept going, and going, and going, and crying, and then going some more, and then crying, crying, crying. Poor thing.
The man brought me some stuff to get her cleaned up, I did what I could, and then decided it would be best to just wallpaper her with paper towels and do the real cleaning when we got home. I dropped off what I wanted to, and then headed home.
I was so mad. Not at Grace. Just at things. At Thursday for being so... crappy.
And then I realized that this whole day seemed to have gone badly, but really, it went about as well as it could have if I was determined to go out and get things done.
I could have been browsing a nice consignment store with both children free of restraints. I could have been carrying Grace through Saver's. I could have been swimming with her.
But no. That dragging breakfast, and the extra fifteen minute delay made it so she got sick at exactly the right time. Because, as much a pain as it is to have a kid get sick in the car, it's so much better than having it happen in public. Especially when you're outnumbered by toddlers.
And it could have happened yesterday, while I was still in a drunk-like stupor.
So, if she was going to get sick, it's pretty amazing how it worked out to be exactly at the right time through a series of seemingly-coincidental inconveniences and vexations.
*No. I'm not.