Today the world conspired against me. For 25 minutes, the world stacked a series of obstacles in my path causing a major embarrassment. When it was over, I could have shouted and snarled, but in the end, all I could do was laugh.
In life, sometimes you’re the mom who has her shit together. Other times, you’re the mom who finds it running down her leg on her own front porch.
A few weeks ago, I was diagnosed with cellulitis of the abdominal wall, which is a fancy term for, “infection of the innards.” It was painful and annoying, but the hydrocodone was delicious. If you can get your hands on some, I highly recommend it. I’m kidding. Don’t do that. You can’t share. It’s illegal. But if you have some left over from a toothache and it’s just laying around in the bathroom cabinet , you should really treat yourself.
AnyWHO, the first round of antibiotics looked at my infection, yawned, turned three tight circles on the rug, and went to sleep. Worthless. When my doctor gave me the second round, he warned they were very strong and I might experience diarrhea. “Great,” I remember thinking. “I’m already walking around with a painful gut goiter. Why not add a runny backside to the mix. Splendid times.”
After a few days, my pain diminished and the redness subsided. I was ecstatic. AND lucky me, I even avoided the not-so-sexy side effects of the stronger medication. I found myself smiling, laughing, cleaning house, and even running on the beach wearing white linen like I was the star in my very own Summer’s Eve commercial. Okay, so the beach was actually the grocery store and the white linen was black stretchy yoga pants, but the point is, I was feeling on top of the world. Then, Monday came along and said, “YOU. HAVE. HAD. ENOUGH. JOY.”
Monday started like any other day except it was my son’s first day of summer school so I had to rouse the bear a full six hours earlier than his typical noon wake up time. As we backed out of the garage for the 20 minute drive, I felt the first rumblings of something suspicious in the cellar.
The drive to summer school was a relaxing cruise. The drive from summer school was a scene from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome.
If you’ve ever been in this situation, you know the drill, (and pardon my indelicacy) Clench, Sweat, Pray – in that order. Every red light was torture and I questioned the paternity of every yellow light that turned red just as it came into view.
When I finally arrived home, I pressed the remote garage door button and thought how lucky I was to have three bathrooms so all I had to do was choose the closest one. I pressed the button again, sometimes it’s touchy. With my bumper almost touching the garage door, I pressed AGAIN, and then 78 more times because, “SOMETHING VERY BAD WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN IN MY PANTS.” I jumped out of the car to use the control panel mounted on the garage. Nothing.
Side note. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my home was experiencing a short THREE-minute power outage and the backup garage battery was dead. COME ON! WHAT ARE THE ODDS?
“KEYS,” I thought. “I have keys. I’ll open the front door.” I ran/shuffled – ruffled (?) to the front door, only to discover the glass door was locked. You know, the glass door that sits before the wood door? Why do we have all these unnecessary doors? I started ringing the bell and knocking on the glass like a crazed Mary Kay lady who is one sale away from her pink Cadillac, but at that point, ladies and gentleman, let’s just say, I lost the battle of the clench. The flood gates opened, the slip-n-slide was in motion, the volcano erupted, the mules were exiting the barn, the corn train was leaving the station…..you get the picture. Probably more of the picture than you wanted. My apologies.
At one point, before my daughter opened the door, I wondered if I could be the woman who poops in her back yard. I’m not proud of it, people, but my God, I thought about it. I just kept thinking, what if I’m spotted? Squatting in your back yard is a suburban sin you cannot recover from.
So, today threw a wrench in my plans to be well and happy, but it didn’t dampen my spirits. While I didn’t intend to return to my blog after a year with a classless story about shatting myself on my front porch, I thought it might give you a much-needed giggle. To those of you who are having a figurative and literal shitty Monday, please know I feel you, I’m here for you, and here’s hoping it gets better. Cheers! *chugs Imodium*