Going Insane

It was really just one of those days. Between trying to keep up with everything at work, and Issac having a doctor's appointment (read 1/3 of my day gone) and then trying to figure out how claims forms work to get money out of my flexible spending account, and then add the fact that with the heat index it was close to 107 degrees outside and I don't have AC and the steering wheel was searing my hands, I had a headache the size of, oh, say, Mt. Fuji. This is not to imply that the pounding in my head would not grow into something more everest-like as the day progressed.

A co-worker leaned against my car, kicked the wheels, and pointed out that the tires are bald. Great.

Issac has been a grouch all week ever since I've been leaving him with Moji inthe mornings. He tells me that he doesn't like her, and when I leave, he kicks and screams and cries for hours (literally). He's been that stubborn lately. I drive off in the morning like a kettle already beginning to steam. I already feel guilty about leaving him this weekend for some much needed R&R, while another part of my being sighs with relief to be gone.

But mostly I feel guilty.

I had a beer when I came home to help me relax, and for about an hour it did the trick. I was happily bobbing along, congratulating myself for throwing dinner together so effectively. But when I came inside to make our plates, my organic green beans that I spent all that time cleaning and washing were smoking in the pan (I left it on high) and the potatoes in the steamer smelled (and tasted) like char. And the pot is black and ruined. Long, sad face. Sigh. So we quickly cooked some veggie sausages to eat with our rice and salad. And then the boys argued and screamed over who gets to sing the blessing while I put my head in my hands and tried to decide if I was laughing or crying. It was nine-thirty before I gave up hope of putting Issac to bed in a happy, sweet, June Cleaveresque way and barricaded his door with my roommate's moving boxes, letting him cry himself to sleep as he pounded the door with his fists and promised (lied?) "I'll be nice now Mommy! MOOOOMMMMMMMYYYYYY! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (sobs, inconceivable noises, choking on snot, shrill, piercing schrieks).

You know, one of those days.