was NOT a good week. I'm surprised I didn't lose my mind. Really. Okay, nothing super tragic happened so forgive me for being dramatic. But that's what's gonna happen here. It was just one of those weeks where crappy things, however insignificant they may have been, kept happening. And that's never any fun, right?
Okay, so on Monday when I picked Grace up from preschool the teacher told me they'd had a lot of problems with her. This is the third time this has happened and it's gettin' old y'all. It was fire safety day so the kids got to see a real fire truck and learn about fire safety from a real firefighter. I had coached Grace on being extra good for this for THREE DAYS. But all my coaching didn't amount to a hill of beans because she was straight up rude to the firefighter who came to talk to them. Mama was not pleased.
Motherhood has been really hard lately. Grace always had her moments, but for the most part she was pretty easy to deal with. When she turned four it was like a butthead switch was turned on. She's still a great kid but the excessive whining, fits, and attitude make me want to trip face first into a bucket of Valium. (Yes I just said that, and it felt great.) When she's good, she's amazing. She's sweet. She's funny. She's cuddly. And she makes a mean plastic chocolate cake. This is what keeps her off of Craigslist.
|This is where she plots against me.|
So then it was Wednesday morning and Rabid Grace was still hanging around. By this point I was totally drained and couldn't get her to preschool fast enough. I was exhausted. About fifteen minutes before I needed to leave to pick her up I got the bright idea to lay down for a few minutes. Well that was dumb because I fell asleep and was forty minutes late picking her up. FORTY MINUTES. I felt like such an idiot and was totally mortified. Oh, and I got charged thirty bucks for it too. I was so embarrassed that I was upset for the rest of the day. So Wednesday the 26th, you suck too.
By Thursday, Sweet Grace had made her return and it looked like I was finally going to have a good, uneventful day. But then I backed the car into a curb and scraped a ton of paint off the bumper. I was really ticked at myself but thankfully Hubby wasn't at all. I swear, a meteor could crash through the roof and he would just say "Oh well, it probably needed replaced anyway." He is the most mellow, down to earth person I've ever met. Which is lucky for me, because the bumper looks horrible now.
Then [insert scream] Grace came down with the flu. Perfect. Just perfect. Why had so many things about this week been so crappy? I haven't even mentioned the countless little things that went wrong. I was not in a good place.
But then that night I opened the Notes app on my phone and found this:
And then my bad week didn't matter anymore.