The two hardest months of the year for me are November and February. I know this doesn’t make me a speshul snowflake. Lots of people have a hard time with those two months. You don’t often hear “wow, July, you FUCKING SUCK”, do you?
I got through November by blogging every day, prepping for Christmas, and eating my weight in cookies because, you know, I was eating for two.
February is proving a tougher nut to crack.
The slightest things are driving me bonkers, and while I know intellectually a lot of my
frustration annoyance out-of-proportion rage is due to sleep deprivation, near-constant nursing, freezing weather, being housebound, and never having enough cash in hand, it doesn’t make me any less likely to fly off the handle.
Things that are driving me crazy lately:
- Harry and his stupid rash. He says it doesn’t itch. While he’s scratching. The scratching aggravates it, which makes it red and irritated, which in turn makes it itchy, so he scratches it. He starts every day by hauling up his shirt so I can look at it. Ditto when he comes home from school. I used up all my fancy anti-itch lotion on it – which helped – then I threw him in an oatmeal bath last night – which helped even more – but god help me I’ll be glad when the bloody thing clears up. His hypochondria is driving me MAAAAAAAD.
- Ron and his attitude. I know where he gets his stubbornness from – both his dad and I have more than our fair share of that truly delightful character trait – but what do you do with a kid who just plants his feet, screams “NOOOOO!!!!” at top volume, and flat-out will not do what you’re asking? I’ve taken the “fine, raise yourself, kid” approach lately. It does work – he calms down much faster and usually then complies with the original request, plus I don’t put myself at personal and professional risk by flinging him off the house roof – but my ears, they are ringing. All the time.
- Baby G’s happy spitting. He spits up. A lot. Harry used to do it too and it’s nothing serious, not GERD or anything like that… he just gulps when he eats and crams his little stomach full to bursting at every meal. And he has the digestive system of a Terry Pratchett swamp dragon. I can always smell elderly milk carton, wherever I go, because it’s ON ME. ALL THE TIME. I’m sure I must present just a delightful picture when I take Ron to preschool.
- My darling husband’s Grooveshark mix. Rush may be the Greatest Canadian Band or something, but Geddy Lee cannot sing. He just can’t! It’s true!! And why oh why would you take someone who can’t sing and put him in a band that likes to record really long songs? With lots of WORDS? That need to be SUNG?!? Every time another Rush song comes up on my sweetie’s mix I am put in mind of Dr. Seuss’ immortal words: “This is a long song / a very long song / goodbye Thing! / you sing too long“.
- The head of our city’s transit workers union. I don’t use public transit, because we live in an area of the municipality that has absolutely zero transit service. However, the bus drivers have been on strike for eight days now, and this means that 55,000 trips a day are not happening. The head of the union is everything bad about unions; he’s a loudmouthed boor who is only interested in protecting perks that benefit senior workers only. He keeps giving interviews on local radio – he shouldn’t – and every time he opens his big fat entitled mouth I want to go find him and smack him with a sign on a stick.
- Network television. It’s all bum.
- Three year olds who repeat everything you say. VQB – well, I can’t call him that any more. He is not very quiet. He’s not even sort of quiet. He found his voice, and now he Never. Stops. Talking. When he can’t think of anything to say, he repeats what I say. To everyone. All day long. I am thrilled that he’s talking, I am! Really! But having my own little parrot… yeesh.
- My dog. I love him but he’s so big and smelly and shack wacky right now.
- My old-lady cat. I don’t really love her – she’s hubs’ cat, not mine – and she’s been drooling and shedding in baskets of clean laundry and pooping in the bathtub when the temperature outside falls below freezing even though she has a litterbox in the bathroom.
- Marie’s stuffed elephants. I have started leaving her to own devices, which is giving mixed results. She will play by herself for a while, but then she goes from kid to kid asking them to play baby elephants with her. And no one will, because baby elephants is a dull, boring, annoying game. Then she stands in front of me, unblinking, not speaking, with her lower lip protruding slightly, and when I speak to her she always responds “I’m boh-wed!” in a whiny too-twee voice. Also, baby elephant has evolved slightly; it now involves Marie pretend-crying in an incredibly loud and high-pitched voice for a minute or two; she then reverts to her own voice to say “shh, shh, it’s OK, no crying in the night, Mommy wants to sleep” (interesting glimpse into the home life, there) – and then the crying starts up again. Forever.
However, just looked at the Sobey’s grocery store flyer and for some reason, they have a Valentine’s Day special – a bouquet of mixed flowers for $16.99 – OK… but it comes with three free cans of Rockstar energy drink. At least I know for sure that I will *not* be getting wilted pink geraniums and gross-tasting headache-in-a-can from anyone next week.