I feel like I'm living in a Calgon commercial. Do you remember those? I realize that I'm dating myself as quite a bit older than my stated 29-years by admitting that I remember those commercials, but I'm totally living those commercials today. They depicted a harried housewife, overcome with stress: the baby is crying, the dog is barking, the phone is ringing, the pan is boiling over, there's someone at the door. . .all at the same moment in time. In the midst of this frantic situation, she calls out, "Calgon, take me away!" Poof! Just like that she's relaxing in a nice, bubbly bath filled with Calgon.
I'm having a Calgon Take Me Away Day today. You know, the part before the sudsy bathtub.
It actually started last night. My right eye had been bothering me and I kept rubbing it. Big mistake, I know, but I actually woke up rubbing it in the middle of the night. Since I wear disposable contacts, I decided to toss them and use new ones tomorrow. I crawled back in bed without another thought. Notice that I didn't actually make sure that I had another pair to use come morning. Of course, I did not. So I had to blindly fish around for my ancient emergency pair of eyeglasses. And when I say "blind", I mean it. At my last exam, about 2 1/2 years ago, my vision was -6.00 in each eye. I fully expect that I have continued to grow nearsighted since then. I feel handicapped without vision correction.
Thankfully, I finally found my glasses in the back of a drawer. They are at least eight-years old (I really do not like wearing glasses) and I have had at least six prescription changes since then, but they are better than no correction at all. I took the kiddo to his class, which is only about two miles away from the house. After baby school, I decided to jam over to my optometrist. I was going to squeeze in an exam and, hopefully, score a pair of contacts to tide me over until my contact lens order arrived. Unfortunately, my optometrist (who I've been seeing for 15-years) is on vacation until March 10th. So I am stuck wearing eyeglasses with a terribly outdated prescription for at least another week and a half.
I arrived home to find that the freaking ants, who I've been battling for what seems like forever, made another attack on my kitchen counter. So I went on a cleaning spree and, like always, didn't find anything that could possibly be attracting the crawly little bastards.
I went to the living room to try to come up with a solution to my blind eyes and I heard birds chirping in my chimney. I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I have an intense fear of a bird flying loose in my house. I hate birds in general and it's just bad luck.
Then I heard even worse. The unmistakable sound of a damned rat in my attic. I love having the avocados and figs in the backyard, but they absolutely do attract rats. I was starting to feel like Marlin Perkins in Wild Fucking Kingdom between the ants in my kitchen, the birds in my chimney, and the damned rat in my attic.
I decided to leave the house to the wildlife and took the kiddo grocery shopping. I couldn't find my special shopping card at checkout. You know, those stupid club cards that every store requires that you have to get the sale prices? I hate those cards. I hate those cards. I hate those cards. Typically, you can give your phone number and the checker can credit the sale to your card that way. Unfortunately, I hate giving out my information and I always give fake phone numbers. I think an angel must have been my checker, though, because she took pity on me and used another card.
Once I arrived home, I realized that I never started dinner in the crockpot this morning. I promised my husband a crockpot meatloaf and he was going to get one! I fed the kiddo lunch and started prepping like a madwoman. I tossed the meatloaf in the slow-cooker and I made a couple of tasty vegetable sides, which I stored safely in the fridge.
About this time, I realized that I hadn't changed my son's diaper in a couple of hours. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. He always tells me when he poops. He didn't today. His bottom was so pink, it broke my heart to hear him crying as I wiped away the waste.
Suddenly, the day improved dramatically. My husband came home. He loved his dinner. Our kiddo was in a good mood. I even took advantage of the lull to clip the little one's fingernails - a task that is usually full of tears and drama. The baby doesn't like it either - haha. Oddly enough, he was very well-behaved as I wielded the nail clippers and he only cried a couple of times. I thought the day was turning around. I was wrong.
My husband returned to the office and the kiddo & I had our dinner. Then it was time for his bath. I stripped him down in the bathroom and dropped his diaper. Remember how I said that he always tells me when he poops? Yeah, well he didn't tell me yet again. He looked down and FREAKED OUT when he saw his diaper. He started screaming, "POO-POO! POO-POO!" and he began climbing me to get away from his diaper. I took him to his changing table to clean his bottom and the bottom that had only been pink an hour or so ago was now a deep red. My poor babe cried so hard as I wiped his bottom. It hurt so much that he refused to sit in his bathtub. He took his bath standing up tonight. He wailed and kept trying to move away as I cleaned his sore bottom. He threw such a fit when I slathered on rash ointment that I wanted to cry for him.
My poor babe didn't want to sleep tonight and he kept whimpering as he clutched my arm. I must have rocked him for nearly thirty minutes before he was settled down enough to finish our bedtime routine.
I don't generally drink during the week, but I am having some wine tonight. Sauvignon Blanc, take me away!!!