Recipe for Today's Very Unhappy Mama

1.     Wake up at 4 a.m. to take friends and hubby to the airport (consolidated 2 airport trips into one—would be much more unhappy if hubby was going on vacation with friend’s family)

2.     Hubby gone

3.     On the i-diet

4.     Come home from great day at work to child melting down because despite having 4 A+s she didn’t win an award for anything but doing her homework all year. . . 18 other kids also won the homework award.  Which means it wasn’t special.  Which means she isn’t special 

5.     Spend an hour on the couch trying to discuss this with her as she cries and blows snot.  She’s sure teachers hate her, because after all those serial A+s, what the heck does it take to win an award?  I don’t know, try to by sympathetic while calculating just how much more therapy we’re going to need if this child only feels worth from awards.  Berated for not talking enough, staring too hard, not taking away the pain, etc.

6.     Almost miss taking son to tae kwon do, but remember at very moment we have to leave.

7.     Have “special time” with melting child at Whole Foods

8.     Eat 2 tiny cubes of Robusto Cheese and a tiny crostini with herb dip.

9.     Watch her eat Almond Cream Cake. 

10. Take one bite.  Dang that tastes good! 

11. Child much happier, I’m much sadder as I eat the tiny amaretti cookie crumbs she’s left behind.

12. After picking up son at tae kwon do, can’t reach other child who’s at a friend’s house because she won’t answer or text back despite warnings that children with cell phones must ALWAYS answer parents’ calls. 

13. Text “U will walk home if I don’t hear from u in 5 min”

14. Pick up that child and try to look friendly and grateful with friend’s father.

15. Everyone’s happy I’m making Caesar salad with our very old leftover BJ’s rotisserie chicken for dinner—happy for the salad, not the chicken. 

16. Table set, kids about to sit down, I dump the leftover croutons into the beautifully dressed salad only to wonder why there are so many black crumbs. 

17. Look closer

18. There are about 100,000 DEAD BLACK ANTS cascading over the salad.

19. Pick ant-covered romaine pieces out, hoping to salvage dinner. 

20. Pick

21. Pick more

22. Pick even more. 

23. 2/3s of the way through the bowl, Ren points out that ants and croutons fell all the way to the bottom.

24. Consider just eating the salad—ants are extra protein, but finally give up, dump the rest down the drain, assuming I have 1.5 hearts of romaine left.

25. Only one tiny romaine heart left

26. Make a measly salad

27. Feed it to the kids who are sad but rolling with it

28. Eat arugula Caesar salad—not bad.  Not great, but not bad.

29. Kids bicker about cleaning up from dinner

30. I warn that I’ve just about had it and can’t take anymore

31. Kids tell me to go to bed

32. I ask if they’ll finish cleaning everything including storing the leftover chicken (that just won’t seem to get eaten up)

33. They stop telling me to go to bed but keep bickering

34. Son complains he’s too hot and needs his fan in the window.  I knock over his water bottle and spill water over his entire dresser and floor while putting in the fan.

35. Rather than going to bed, son is in bathroom yet again.  Begin mild shrieking of how I need children in bed.

36. Can’t drown sorrows in chocolate (which has melted anyway in our upper cabinet).  Instead, crunch on I-diet chocolate cereal dessert (all-bran covered in Lindt 70% dark chocolate).

37. See a yellow towel on floor and start real shrieking now “Who took a yellow towel—yellow towels are MY towels!  Who not only STOLE my towel but left it on the bathroom floor” (we are a color coded towel family so culprits can be properly blamed)

38. Kids tell me to go to bed again.

39. Go to bed

40. Write this blog

41. Goodnight.