Don't Start With Me

Ooo I'm in a mood.  .  

Just a whiny exasperated mood.  There are no roses in this post.  No shiny happy people.  No sunny beaches.  No hot bubble baths with a good book.  No wonderful date nights with your husband.

Dangit.

My day started off alright.  Planned on going into town so I could run on some hills since the 10K on hills kicked my trash and I died.  And I don't want to die in August when I run a half marathon where there are still lots of hills. 

I planned on starting around 8:30-9 a.m.  You know, before it got too hot.  Well, I didn't get to my sister's apartment till almost 10, then she talked to me for 15-20 minutes and finally I was able to get started.  And by that time it was at least 10:30 or something.  I don't know.  I didn't look at the dumb clock.

Picture this:  80 degree's, no wind, not a cloud in sight, I know some of you are drooling and getting out the mental boat to put in the mental lake to do some mental wake boarding.  Well, put the darn boat back on the mental ramp and park it will ya?  Because I ran 8 bloody (is that a swear word?  I keep hearing it might be across the pond, but I like the sound of it.  I guess I could say something like...  smelly, or itchy or caboodley, or fanninnilily, or cotton-pickin (from Elf, eh?)) miles, with 6 of them being on hillyness and I died.

That's right, I'm not really here, I died.  Whitney, who would have been 25 at the end of this month died. 

Ok, then I came back to life.  But really, I hit about 7 1/2 miles and decided I've never felt so incredibly drained ever. 

Picture this:  a girl in a purple tank top jogging, red faced, looking like she's giving her all, then from behind comes a woman walking, pushing a double stroller with a baby on her back and a kid hanging on each leg and she passes the purple tank top, then does one last look back before she is out the front of the screen. 

That was me the last half mile.  Your grandma could have waddled past me, but I was sure not gonna stop jogging! 

So, I stagger up to Lindsey's door and I lightly knock (because my brother in law is sleeping).  No answer, I try the handle - nothing.  I knock a little louder.  Nothing.  I knock louder.  Nothing.  I yell through the door "OPEN UP!  I'M DDDYYYYIIIINNNGGG!!!!"  (I'm not making this up).  Nothing.  I walk to the window, bang on that.  Nothing.  I walk back to the door, "Lindsey!  I need water!!! I'm DYYIIINNNGGG!!!"  Nothing.  So then, I look at the parking lot, because I swear I saw her car.  There it is.. and.. wait... why is my car so far away?   Why is Lindsey's car so far away?  And Nate's?  Ohh... wait a minute. 

WRONG BUILDING.

See?  Heat stroke or something.  Delusional.  I went to the wrong building.  I waddle to Lindsey's door, lightly tap at the door and 2 seconds later the door opens and Linds says, "I didn't even lock it after you left."

So I stumble in, drink 3 gallons of water, eat one of her bananas, steal a gatorade, use her face wash, change and head back out the door.

I had a million errands to run.  One of which was picking out paint to paint my upstairs.  Now, my feet are killing me from the run and since I died and came back to life my left eye is twitching and so I enlist the help of my interior designer sister-in-law who has a paint-color-wheel thing and we figure out which color to do the entire upstairs and which color to do my one accent wall.  The guys were taking fooorrever mixing my paint.  So I say, "Hey, I'm going to run to Big 5 real quick, I'll be right back."  Ok, they say.  So I go buy my yellow version of the purple tank I was running in because it's my new favorite piece of exercise clothing and one is not enough. 

I come back to Ace, and see one of my paint cans sitting on the counter and the other wasn't.  So I wait, someone comes by, asks if I need anything.  I tell him I need paint can number two, he finds it in the mixer and I say thank you Mr. Kind Sir and pay and leave.

So, I'm just plum spent.

I get home, unload, thank my Mother in Law for watching my nugget, and then the nugget get's a little fiesty later and I'm just plum spent.  Jaren's not home,  feels like he never is these days (oh, wait, it's 10 p.m. and he STILL isn't home.)  I haven't showered, I feel disgusting, my feet hurt, my left eye is still twitching from my near death experience and Naomi is throwing things.  From behind.  She get's quite the distance covered that way, let me tell you. 

Jaren came home around 6:30, I made dinner, we ate, he said, "go take a shower, honey.  You really stink.  And would you do something about that left eye twitch?  It's really unattractive."  So, he takes Naomi down stairs and I shower and I'm done, and Naomi wants to sit on my lap while I try to pluck my eye brows and Jaren says, "Well, this has been fun, I've got to go check water or something.  See you all later."  So he leaves me juggling tweezers and a wiley little nugget. 

I get her ready for bed, put her down and this whole time I have a massive pounding head ache - I'm convinced it's from heat stroke.  Or the near death experience.  Or both.  Along with the eye twitch. 

So, she's down at 7:30 - HALLELUJAH!  I don't remember the last time I put her to bed that early.  But I'll just say that because of it, my eye stopped twitching.

So, I get ambitious, pull out the paint cans, open one, paint a square on my accent wall.  Open the other and - WAIT ONE COTTON PICKIN MINUTE!!!!  It wasn't MIXED!!  Those fanninnilily boys thought that when I walked away, they could too!  Without mixin my paint!  UUUUGGGH.  So, I have to mix my self, do I?  So... I do.  But it wasn't any fun, let me tell you.  Walkin around shakin a thing, talking on the phone to my sister-in-law.  Rollin the can on the floor, it get's away from me and slams into my shin.  I have a bruise.  Itchy can. 

I finally get it mixed, I put it on the wall - look at the accent wall and what?!  Wait one caboodley minute!  The accent square is cobalt blue!!  Or maybe it just looks that way because of the brown walls next to it and under it?  Oh man, I don't know.  All I know is I can't have a cobalt accent wall.  Can't wait to hear what Jaren says when he see's I desecrated his wall. 

So, I need to find a different color for my accent wall - I like the one on my other wall.  I have to tape my entire upstairs, get Jaren to caulk along the ceiling because it's not been done in the over 4 years we've lived in the house and I'm tired of lookin like a hillbilly. 

And.  HE IS STILL NOT HOME.  It's been this way since April.  He's got more ground he's running and is trying to get that running like all of the rest of it.  There are lots of break downs everywhere, I get it.  I get the why, but I'm starting not to care.  There get's to be a point where I'm tired of being a single mom and tired of Naomi going 3-4 days a week not seeing her Dad at all.  And I'm in a mood.  And I died today.  And my left eye finally stopped twitching.  And I have a cobalt square on my accent wall.  And my feet feel 73 years old.  And I have a sunburn on my neck.  ONLY MY NECK.  And my bedroom is a mess.  And my bathroom is a mess.  And I'm tired.  And Jaren isn't home. 

And he gave everyone the day off.  He says, "It'll only be 6 hours out of the day.  Instead of... 14."  Oh.  Fantastic. Yeah, I know, someone has to do it - why not the boss?  Look, I'll feel better tomorrow and I'm so grateful for all he does for us and everything we have because of all of his hard work.  But I miss him.  And Naomi misses him.  And so when I'm in a mood - like today - I just don't care and I just want him home.  Dangit.

This is the end of my giant rant.  Tune in next time for shiny happy people.