Today I feel like poo butter. That’s right, poo. butter.
Perhaps this picture will give you a visual of what poo butter feels like:
I’ve got the worst cold on the planet and I am super-whiny about it. It’s one of those colds where you sneeze a bajilliondy times, which is only complicated by the fact that there are an infinite number of faux sneezes in which your face squiggles all up and your eyes water and there’s absolutely nothing to show for it.
Sorry for being so whiny…but not really because I’m so pathetic, I don’t even care that I sound like a grown-up version of my two year old.
Remember my awesome housekeeping goals? Yeah, I’m adding an amendment to that which states that I don’t have to do anything when I’m sick. This includes, but is not limited to: cleaning, bathing (myself or others), doing laundry (even though I did wash diapers today because I’m a martyr for the cause), and cooking.
This amendment explains why, if you had come to my house around 11:30 today you’d have seen my two year old crouched under the table like a savage eating the remnants of a stale package of saltines she found in the depths of the diaper bag. God bless her. I’m sure there are hunter/gatherers somewhere in her lineage whom she should thank for her industrious nature. We’ll look into that some day when I’m not dying.
I will say, though, that once I ran out of Cheerios to fend of the smaller of the knee biters, I did muster up the energy to “cook” some lunch. And by “cook” I mean I opened a can of kidney beans to feed the baby, which I’m sure I’ll regret later, and I hard boiled some eggs for Maggie ’cause she’s apparently in a Cool Hand Luke kind of mood.
I don’t know what it says about my usual culinary skills, but during lunch, Mags said, “This is a delicious feast, Mama!”
I have shamelessly slept while my older child watched princess movies and the other napped and I am not the least bit sorry. Well, I’m a little sorry that Cinderella isn’t longer and that Lily woke up early, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Real life is not pretty y’all. But at least there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
The hubz comes home soon and today is definitely one of those days when I feel like we’re two WWF fighters in a Royal Rumble and I’m the one who’s been getting beaten over the head with a guitar filled with thumb tacks and I’ve just managed to crawl my pathetic way to the side of the ring so he can slap my hand and jump in while I lay in a heap.
Now I’m going to go reconsider the bizarre life I lead in which I actually know that much about professional wrestling. Sheesh.