How I hate the days I hate. Hate I say. Hate? No way!

Today was one of those days that you would just like to start over. It didn't start out badly, in fact, it was just the opposite. At the time of writing, it was Free Friday (Starbucks), I got to sleep in an extra hour and then some, had the meal plan planned for the next week and again, it was Friday.

A few things about this before I get to the point. Fridays, I treat myself to Starbucks. White Chocolate Peppermint Mocha, non-fat, no-whip, 450+ calories of pure bliss. I found out that the protein content in my beloved beverage is GREAT. Bo.Nus. I don't workout on Friday mornings because it is weigh-in day and it seems counter-productive (to me) to workout, drinking anywhere from 32-48 ounces of water during said workout, followed by my protein shake, followed by the glorious cuppa java while watching a repeat episode of Dr. Phil only to go to work, weigh in before I start working and call that something other than water-logged. Hence, the Starbucks treat on Fridays and the first sip isn't until I actually step OFF the scale.

This particular morning, I was feeling good, relaxed, got a roast in the crock-pot and turned it to low. Got Ty up and around and went about getting to Starbucks then work. Brett calls me and asks if I have the checkbook because there wasn't a check in the diaper bag for the sitter. Umm, yeah, checkbook in my purse and this makes the THIRD time I had forgotten to write a check out to her. Sigh. I text her right away and bless her, she said I could bring it when I picked Ty up in the afternoon. Problem solved. I tried to convince PIC #2 to go to my house and peel the taters for supper. I even told her she could just peel and put them in a bowl in the fridge. Ask me if she did it. NO! She didn't! Sigh. I tried. I've tried to get her to clean the house, too, or even just vacuum for me, she hasn't yet. Sigh. I tried.

The work day went really fast, I got a lot accomplished and felt good about leaving for the day. I went to the store at break and picked up a few groceries to top off the meal plan for the next few days. On the way home/pick up Ty, I couldn't recall why I didn't go park my car at home and walk over to the sitter's house. At any rate, I knew I had to drive over there, so I did. I get Ty, he's actually happy to see me, is extra snuggly and wants to come home with me. I'm getting ready to pack Ty up in the car and the sitter asks about her check. Seriously, Trisha? Twice in one day you forget to pay the woman that does a stellar and I mean STELLAR job with your sugarbear??? That's why I drove there, MY PURSE WITH THE FRICKEN CHECKBOOK IN IT. Sigh. I apologize again, profusely. Sigh.

We get home and it is really warm outside and knowing we were going to be playing with our neighbors, Ty and I hustle inside to get him his juice and find him some shorts. A side note about Ty seeing me wear shorts, he thinks I'm not wearing pants, which is true, but he thinks this constitutes an acceptable reason for him to not wear pants or shorts or anything but a diaper. Ty and I go to his room to search for the THREE pairs of shorts that he has that fit him. I'm tearing into his closet, literally throwing clothes out of there trying to find these stinking shorts! The whole time I'm doing this, I'm having to go out into the kitchen to check on Ty because he is playing with the screen door letting Dutch and Ru in and out and also HIMSELF in and out, which he knows is a huge no-no.

Anyhoo, I go back to annihilating his closet when my nose starts to smell something... or is it nothing? I don't smell the aroma of the roast in the crock pot, which by the way is the recipe I got from the sitter. I go to the kitchen again only to see that the fresh, five pound roast is sitting in the crock pot, turned on, but NOT PLUGGED IN. Are you kidding me?! Seriously, Trisha? I look up, throwing my hands in the air and scream, "SON OF A B!!!" I really did say "b" and not a bad word. Ty was right there, for crying out loud. He says, "mommy, wha happen? wha happen? don't try (cry). is otay." Ugh. Hard to be mad with him doing that.

I go back to ripping Ty's room apart, FINALLY find the flipping shorts and we get to head outside. AFTER I pick up the mess that I made, which Ty again comes in asking the same questions of what happened and then comforting me with "is otay." Gotta love him.

I really dislike days like this one. Or the one about puke-a-Ruca. Or the one about having to cut my hair due to a lemon sucker. Or the one about the TV. And the one about the time my tires were slashed on my 1986 Dodge Caravan, which resulted in me with mild heat exhaustion, changing out the tires myself and missing my good friend's birthday party. (That was the short version.) Days like these challenge my patience a lot. They challenge my motivation. The funny thing is that I now find these things FUNNY. They really do only happen to me. Before I had to "worry" about someone else, so before we got Dutch, I didn't find these things as entertaining as I do now. After Dutch, then Ru and then Ty, things are quickly put into perspective when all three babes are well, unscathed for the day and happy. It makes this kind of crap pretty insignificant except to retell in a blog or as an animated story. The friend that I mentioned earlier, the birthday party that I missed, would always say, "I can't wait to talk to you and find out about your bad days! You always have the greatest bad days ever!" Sigh. At least I was making someone's day when my day was crap.

"The day is what you make of it, I'm busy making mine shitty." - Trisha Miller

Signing off for now. To all of you near and far and to my friend Abbie whom I miss dearly, until next time...