Wednesday was a crummy day. My friend Becky, who apparently thought so, too, summed it up perfectly:
“OK, this day could just end now and we’d all be better for it.”
No kidding. I couldn’t have said it any better, myself. In fact, by the time I collapsed into my recliner and spotted her post on Facebook, I’d had my fill. You know, “Check, please?”
My Wednesday began with an awkward encounter with one of my offspring in our upstairs hallway. I may have been bleary-eyed but easily recognized the unmistakable shape of a cell-phone concealed in a T-shirt, being carried by said-offspring. (The rule in my house from the get-go has been that cell phones and other such devices are to be charged in my bedroom overnight, eliminating any natural temptation to text with friends all night long.)
“Hand it over,” I said, yawning.
I admired his effort but mostly resented the fact that I was being forced to dispense consequences before consuming tea or even peeing. It’s ridiculous, but I digress.
“You’ll get it back tomorrow.”
One helping of adolescent angst later (stir in one perimenopausal mama for a truly memorable moment), and the day was off to a great start.
Then I learned that Noah still hadn’t found his winter coat. Say, have any of you seen it? No, really. It’s a black Columbia, adult small. Gosh, and to think I was so pleased with that purchase.
I hate shopping, but when I do, I bargain-hunt. I recall that I managed – between coupons and good timing – to snag it for about 50 percent off its original price. If you know what brand-named outerwear goes for, these days, you’ll understand why I did a jig over that one. And Noah conveniently lost it during a cold-snap. Shoot.
Then, after school, just to spice things up, Holly surprised us all when she knocked her big brother to the living room floor.
“Holly, why’d you do that?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. Usually it’s Noah I’m lecturing, about wrestling a little too enthusiastically with her. He was laughing, too.
“I wanted to say goodbye to Posey (our cat) before soccer practice but Noah wouldn’t let me near him so I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him off,” she said, shrugging and wincing. Nice.
When I returned to the kitchen to finish washing the dinner dishes after sorting out the ruckus in the living room, I glanced outside at the our toddler-esque big-red-dog, Jake, and found him curiously licking the metal railing by the back door. Seriously?
It was a mere 10 degrees, 10 below zero with the wind-chill. Jake’s as sweet as he can be, but he possesses about as much sense as young Flick – a friend of Ralphie’s who famously got his tongue stuck to a metal flagpole one bitterly cold day in “A Christmas Story.”
For example, last Wednesday he puked something red and scary (on the living room carpet, of course). Upon closer inspection, I discovered it wasn’t blood, just the lower part of his once dashing red bandanna, which, apparently, he’d chewed off and swallowed. Seems we failed to entertain him and he took it out on his bandanna. The proof was in the pudding, as they say.
Not to be outdone, Posey puked on the runner in the kitchen immediately after I hauled Jake back inside. “Make it stop!” I thought. I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched him zip out of the kitchen like a hit-and-run driver.
Nothing tragic happened on this day, of course, but it did remind me of one of my favorite picture books, Judith Viorst’s “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.”
Yeah, some days are like that.
Here’s hoping, dear Becky, that next Wednesday is better for both of us.
Update: Found, one winter coat, by Noah’s soccer teammate who discovered that it had accidentally been placed (by Noah) in his soccer bag. Yay!
• Jennifer DuBose lives in Batavia with her husband, Todd, and their two children, Noah and Holly. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.