Poppy Mom

No, I did not forget to take my motherfucking Prozac. Why do you ask?

First, before I rant, I must mention that I bought some Dander-Out dander remover and body deodorizer. Not for me. For my pets. Whiney, my ancient cat, is slowly turning to dust and this stuff's supposed to naturally decompose any organic material that falls off of her. It's also supposed to dissolve pet odors. If this shit works, then my Basset hound, Chloe, should be completely evaporated by Saturday.

I had a trying day today. Nothing majorly bad, just one of those days where one little thing is compounded by another little thing ... and another ... and another until my face begins to melt amidst my maniacal giggling/sobbing.

Towards the end of this day, I had a realization. I realized that, as soon as B. laid eyes on me, he would ask the one question I'm seriously beginning to hate:

"Did you take your Prozac today?"

Since I am only able to communicate via a series of random squeaks and snorts when he utters this question, I'm going to establish a code so I can effectively conmunicate my answer.

If I haven't taken my Prozac, I'll respond by punching you in the face. If I have taken it, you'll recieve a slightly less robust punch in the neck.

Trust me, if this was your day, you'd punch someone in the neck, too. Unless you had washed down the Prozac with whiskey. Then you'd probablly just giggle and maybe accidentally blow a little snot out your nose.

5:30 a.m. - Since you've seen at least a little bit of every hour since midnight, get up.

7:30 a.m. - Finish slugging back that fully-sugared can of Pepsi, then get on the floor and tune in to one of the many hours of "Breathing Space Yoga" that I've recorded in the past week.

7:46 a.m. - Jack-booted yoga instructor seems to think I can kneel on my left knee, position my right heel in my crotch and bend with my face to the floor. Jack-booted yoga instructor can suck it.

7:50 a.m. - Hobble to shower, where I removed bitter stink of failure.

8:00 a.m. - TOOK PROZAC

9:00 a. m. - Clara Jane awakens. Go to her room. Remove diapers from futon. Apparently, child's father can't tell the difference between a futon and a Diaper Champ.

10:30 a .m. - Vain attempt to wrestle child into long-sleeved onesie and pink bib overalls. Child spends duration of vain attempt trying to flee as if I might preparing to cover her in leeches.

10:40 a.m. - Overalls finally on child. Overalls so tight one could bounce a quarter off of child's ass.

11:45 a.m. - Child and mother collapse in post-overall-removal exhaustion.

12:30 p.m. - Child awakens. Begin preparing her lunch. Phone rings throughout process.

1:00 p.m. Make second attempt to leave house. Child feigns a nap attack.

1:10 p.m. - Child is obviously faking. Wrangle her in a liFe-sucking hoodie and leave.

1:10 - 1:25 p.m. - Wrestle with stupid fucking latch on car seat that husband neglected to mention was a stupid fucking puzzle. I fucking hate puzzles.

1:45 p.m. - Accosted by French woman in cheese department at Whole Foods who says, "I am screaming because your child is so beautiful!" Well, that's good to know. When someone leaps over a case of goat cheese, practically landing in my cart, I feel much better about the situation once I know why that person is screaming.

1:46 p.m. - Clara Jane realizes the power she has, this business of being able to make people scream. Cops total rock star attitude and demands that I pick the broken bits out of her bowl of Cheerios.

2:00 p.m. - Accosted by my former massage therapist in the check-out line. Unable to watch grocery-bagging process, allowing cashier to charge me $5 for an issue of Ready Made magazine, which somehow manages to get lost in its 12 inch journey from the cashier to the bag.

2:10 p.m. - Almost run over in Trader Joe's parking lot by woman taking an urgent phone call while eating her lunch and driving on the curb.

2:45 p.m. - Check-out Breakdown #1. A special note to the person who came up with the brilliant idea of bringing shopping carts through the check-out on the cashier side, instead of leaving well enough alone and allowing the customers to handle their carts at the check-out:

You stupid, stupid ignorant fucking toad!

Go ahead, Cashier. Take my cart with my child. Go for it. Hope you're wearing your earplugs!

On the plus side, at least I know that if a stranger tries to take Clara Jane, she'll make damn sure everyone in a one-mile radius hears all about it as it's happening.

2:50 p.m. - 3:15 p.m. - Drive from Trader Joe's to south county while Clara Jane screams.

3:15 p.m. - Pull into Michael's parking lot just as Clara Jane falls asleep.

HIGHPOINT OF MY DAY!
Shortly before I stopped at Michael's, I made a run through the Krispy Kreme drive-thru. And who knew that Krispy Kreme makes a passable latte? They do, and the latte's made better by the fact that the plastic lid absorbs the flavor of the donut grease that permiates the air.

3:15 p.m. - 3:40 p.m. - Sit in car, drinking latte and licking donutty-good lid while watching precious minutes tick away while child snoozes. Don't realize that resting cup on breast is a bad idea, as bottom of cup is covered with coffee. Doomed to sport coffee rings on breast for the rest of the day.

3:40 p.m. - 3:45 p.m. - Run into store, grab the one skein of yarn needed to complete project.

3:45 p.m. - 4:10 p.m. - Stand in check-out line behind woman who has literally I am not exaggerating filled an entire shopping cart with $1 mini scarecrows on sticks.

4:11 p.m. - Cash register implodes from miniature scarecrow assault. Told to get into another line. Decide don't need yarn after all, but could really use the half-hour wasted in store. That's time I could have used to pry my eyeball from its socket with a size 11 knitting needle. Just as productive, and not quite as frustrating.

4:20 p.m. - 4:50 p.m. - Shop at Costco for catering supplies. Want to shove a Tyson's Wing of Fire up nostril of overzealous sample lady. Since I'm covered in blood from an incident with a package of ground beef, you'd think she'd lay off.

4:50 p.m. - Check-out Breakdown #2. Second verse, same as the first.

4:55 p.m. - Make bottle for screaming child who just missed being abducted by check-out clerk. Add formula from leaky bottle to list of fluids on my clothing.

5:00 p.m. - 5:15 p.m. - Drive to B.'s office. Find him standing in the one spot that requires me to do automotive acrobatics to fetch him.

5:15 p.m. - 5:20 p.m. - Seethe.

5:21 p.m. - "Did you take your Pro..."

5:21:01 p.m. - Punch him in the motherfucking neck.

Posted by Robin at November 15, 2004 08:13 PM | TrackBack