I am so tired. So, so tired. I will have more substantial posts tomorrow, but for now I want to tell you what sucks about coming home in the middle of the week from your vacation in Detroit that included the ER at Henry Ford Hospital, alcohol, roller skating, British guys, and Moby.
What sucks is that I had to just drop back into life and, like, parent and shit. This morning, I pried my eyes open after a grand total of 3 hours of sleep and when I got downstairs and started packing the baby’s lunch, I realized that the bread was moldy. Of course it was; it’s got to be two weeks old at this point. For the past few weeks, the baby has been whining that he wants peanut butter crackers for lunch and I would argue that that isn’t a substantial lunch and blah blah blah I want you to thrive or some shit. So, this morning, I’m sure you can imagine me standing at the counter (read: the stove…we don’t have any counters and FUCK), eyes half-closed, hair all askew, toaster oven ticking away, and moldy bread poised to incite hallucinations to those brave enough to eat it, realizing that oh my god, I am going to have to send my child to school with peanut butter crackers for lunch.
I played it off pretty well, though. I went into the living room where the baby was and said, “Hey! Guess what’s for lunch today? PEANUT BUTTER CRACKERS HOLY SHIT YOU ARE THE LUCKIEST KID ALIVE!” The baby was, in fact, pretty excited. However, he didn’t see me flailing at the heavens when I realized that the box of Saltines that I never pay attention to was two years old. But since I am Mom Bot 5000, I had a back-up box in the pantry. That box only expired in March so I declare myself officially On Top of Shit.
I sent him off with his peanut butter crackers, some applesauce, and a small bag of pumpernickel-and-onion pretzel sticks that I bought at a rest stop in Ohio yesterday. I think he had shoes on, but I can’t be sure.
I went back inside and realized that my brilliant idea to get started on the laundry last night was maybe not so brilliant since all of my bras were soaking in the wash tub, gleefully sopping wet. Also, did I mention that I put the baby on the bus sans brasserie? And the bus driver was blasting “Summertime” by Will Smith and I had to resist the urge to go, “Awwwwwwwwww shit, son!” I tossed the bras in the dryer and reveled in the fact that I had such a great excuse for showing up to work late.
The more I write down the details of my life, the more I find myself struggling to complete sentences.